


Intruder

by doitsuki



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: ARGUS, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Awkwardness, Dialogue, Feels, Fluff, Food, Fucking, Gen, Goats, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecurity, Lust, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Personality Disorder, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Social Anxiety, Stalking, Unrequited Love, Yandere, Yandere Goats, thats right!!!, there are a lot of implications in here hoo boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-14 01:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11772432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitsuki/pseuds/doitsuki
Summary: Archimonde has joined the former Duumvirate, now a Triumverate that rules over Argus. Alongside Velen and Kil'jaeden, who have ruled in unison for millennia, he feels an odd mixture of welcome and unwanted. But he does not belong, and neither do these uncomfortable feelings he's having about Kil'jaeden.FEELS.





	1. Chapter 1

Hues of blue and purple danced beneath Archimonde’s skin as he swung his sword around. It was late in the afternoon and scant sunbeams silhouetted the Seat of the Triumverate’s many crystal spires behind him. He backed the sun, dark hair fluttering about with every strike. Few thoughts came to him in times like this, letting his bodily strength flow without his mind to hold him back. A step here, a spin there… and he kept hacking away at the training dummy before him. The thing was a massive glob of arcane energy with glowing white eyes, regenerating whenever cut. It fought back with a spark of heat signaling contact, something Archimonde was supposed to consider lethal. But he didn’t care, continuing to slice up the energy while sidestepping its blows. Minutes later he stepped back, sweat running down in glistening rivulets down his muscular form. Archimonde’s sharp blue eyes fell shut, he breathed in and then sighed. His sword clattered to the ground. There was the familiar ache in his muscles, heat coiling in his chest and lungs scraped raw… but the thoughts he’d ran from were returning.

 _‘Get away.’_ He grit his teeth, tail curling back and forth in annoyance. _‘Don’t need any of this. Fucking pointless.’_ Archimonde turned swiftly and stormed towards the Seat, hooves kicking up orange dust. A few curious blooms drifted by, blown on sweet southern winds. One plastered itself to Archimonde’s forehead and he didn’t feel it, nor did he realize he looked like a princess. He made his way up twenty stairs and stared straight ahead at the two Eredar beneath the Seat’s gleaming entryway. Velen and Kil’jaeden were speaking amongst themselves as usual. Archimonde approached, and Kil’jaeden glanced at him somewhat dismissively. Velen, ever polite, turned and clasped his slender hands together.

“Brother! We were wondering when you would join us.”

 _‘No you weren’t.’_ thought Archimonde, guarding his thoughts from his fellows. He inclined his head, and Kil’jaeden snickered. Almost immediately he narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders in an unconscious challenge.

“Love the look.” Kil’jaeden said with a smile.

“You’ve seen me bare before.” Archimonde flexed, tensing in a proud pose. “Only wish you looked this good.”

“Yes, yes.” Kil’jaeden rolled his eyes, then turned his attention back to Velen so swiftly Archimonde felt discarded.

_‘Damn it.’_

Velen took a light step forwards and placed a hand on Archimonde’s chest, gazing up at him with bright, innocent eyes.

“Will you be joining us for dinner tonight? I know you’re busy, but…”

“Yeah.” Archimonde didn’t meet the Prophet’s eyes, staring through the entryway to the shining halls he spent most of his waking hours in. “See you there.” He strode off with all due haste, leaving Velen looking crestfallen behind him. Kil’jaeden stood beside his friend and put an arm around Velen’s lithe waist. His warmth enticed Velen closer for a bit of a snuggle, the Prophet’s soft voice questioning in his mind.

_‘Something troubles him…’_

Kil’jaeden flicked his tail up and brushed it against Velen’s bare thigh, catching the gilded edge of his side-split robes.

**_‘You should suggest a little meditation. He listens to you before even turning an ear to me.’_ **

_‘A pity…’_ Velen’s inner voice sounded even sadder, and he stuck to Kil’jaeden as he was comforted. _‘You are ever so wise, brother.’_

**_‘Such is the folly of youth. He fails to heed sense, and reaps the consequences.’_ **

_‘Poor, stubborn Archi.’_ Velen tugged on Kil’jaeden’s tail as it swished about, taking Kil’jaeden inside. _‘I wish we could help him.’_

**_‘There is plenty of time for that.’_ **

 

Archimonde was upstairs, laying on his face in bed so he didn’t have to bathe or get dressed. Every part of him ached, and now for some reason he was frightfully cold. His heart seemed to quiver as he breathed, in and out and uncontrolled. Images of Kil’jaeden and Velen standing together (as they probably still were) danced before his eyes. The blatant disinterest Kil’jaeden thought he hid so well when he looked at Archimonde. The exultation twitching his tendrils when he admired Velen. The tiny things Archimonde noticed, and nobody had the slightest clue.

 _‘They all think I’m some stupid warrior.’_ He grit his teeth, fully aware of his own temper and of course, favoured pastimes. _‘Damn that beautiful, condescending bastard.’_ Kil’jaeden’s smooth blue face grinned in his mind’s eye, radiant without even the slightest surplus wrinkle to be seen. Ancient, intelligent and perfect. Everything Archimonde was not. A spellcaster without compare, Kil’jaeden outmatched Archimonde for presence, tone, and skill.

 _‘Everything I can do, you can do better. Though I’d like to see you best me in a duel of fists…’_ He imagined Kil’jaeden bare chested with only a kilt for modesty, arms raised and fierce determination on his face. Archimonde would lunge at him, their crests would make contact, and then the gloriousness of full body contact. His mind drifted far, far into what became a very sticky scenario. It was getting stickier when a knock at the door shattered his thoughts and he dove under his bedcovers, cursing whoever it was. It was one of the faithful Vindicators who knew not to actually enter Archimonde’s chambers, calling out from the hallway,

“Better hurry before Netrezaar eats all the steak~!”

“That fucker.” Archimonde rushed to get dressed, tugging tight breeches up his toned thighs and finding them stuck beneath his meaty dick. “Ah…!”

What a predicament. Kil’jaeden admired punctuality and a well-dressed man, two things Archimonde was fast losing his chances at. The only reason Archimonde attended any sort of public event was to impress him, as enduring the company of snooty socialites made torture look relaxing. Thinly veiled insults and disingenuous words set Archimonde on edge, combined with the requisite patience and decorum he simply didn’t have. But he tried. Anything to be near Kil’jaeden with a social buffer against dismissal. Kil’jaeden was ever so conscious of his reputation and quite possibly the most skilled wordsmith in existence. He could deflect, absorb and twist just about anything in his favour – Archimonde had never seen him fail at it. Conversation was an art when he engaged in it. Usually, Archimionde silently gazed at his sweet lips and dreamed.

 _‘Idiot! Don’t think about his lips!’_ Archimonde struggled with his breeches, his body disobeying and sending shivers of pleasure through his core. _‘Gahh, Void… maybe… maybe if I nut, then-’_ He glanced at the wall clock. _‘Late! No time. Get this.’_ He threw on a low collared robe with long, dark red sleeves and dark accents. _‘And this.’_ It came with an ornate belt that _just_ hid his erection under a swath of fabric. _‘Right.’_ Stiffly he strode down the hallway, leaving his door open. These dinners were a weekly event, something like meetings where everyone could discuss appropriately weighted matters while bonding over good food. The Triumverate ruled based on their mutually agreed-upon decisions, but they weren’t averse to taking in some new ideas. Archimonde shoved his anxiety aside and forced himself to step calmly into the vast dining hall, moving to sit at the one remaining place. Everyone liked to play equal here. Archimonde hated it, and scowled internally as he noticed Netrezaar cozying up to Kil’jaeden’s right, going for the steak as predicted. Velen and Kil’jaeden, close as ever, nodded towards Archimonde and Kil’jaeden spoke.

“Archimonde, so kind of you to join us.” He saw that the little flower was still there, and curled his lip in minor distaste. _‘So he just threw on some random clothes and came here. Doesn’t even care about his appearance. Disappointing.’_

Velen was eating some arghetti (thin noodles in creamy sauce) and wiggled his long brows at Archimonde. His brother could take the conversation wherever, he was just hungry.

“What’s the topic tonight?” Archimonde asked, going straight for a glass of arcane liquor. Kil’jaeden rolled his golden eyes.

“You’ll hardly care in an hour’s time.”

“The warlocks.” Aargon said after a pause, Kil’jaeden taking a creampuff between two fingers and biting into it. “There’s been an increase in their activity around Mac’Aree as of late.”

“Just get your Vigilants to smash their heads in.” Archimonde muttered over the rim of his glass. Kil’jaeden rolled his eyes _again_ , this time in the opposite direction with a heavy sigh.

“By the Light, you really are bloodthirsty.”

“Least I take action, unlike _you_.” Archimonde mentally kicked himself. _‘Shit! Why did I say that?’_

Aargon conjured some popcorn and handed it to Raazyk, who was sitting beside him shaking a leg.

Kil’jaeden raised his silvery brows, then slowly turned to Velen. Velen had a long noodle hanging out of his mouth and was blissfully unaware of everything but The Sauce. Kil’jaeden pinged his mind and Velen sat up straight.

“Hm? Oh, yes. Quite.” A peaceable smile graced his features. Archimonde smirked on a sudden victorious impulse.

“See? Even Velen agrees.”

Velen’s face froze. _‘A..Ahm, what did I say?’_ He quietly asked Kil’jaeden.

 _‘ **He thinks I do not take action when called upon.**_ ’ Kil’jaeden replied, calm. Velen frowned.

“Archimonde, we are three minds to think on what is best for our people, not six fists to…” He trailed off, a hand to his lips. “Goodness, how horrible.”

 ** _‘Fantastic. You’ve upset him.’_** Kil’jaeden’s voice dripped with sarcasm and Archimonde could _feel_ the displeasure his face hid.

 _‘Not my fault.’_ Archimonde glared to the Eredar sitting beside him, and she looked away at once. His tendrils drooped sullenly, nearly falling into his glass. He took a long sip, Aargon’s words just barely reaching him.

“There won’t be any violence, not yet at least.”

“I’m sure they don’t mean any harm.” Velen murmured, pushing his fork around. “They’re just playing with magic.”

“Magic they _don’t understand_.”

“They could learn, Kil’jaeden. Why don’t you make a little investigation, see if you can help them?”

Kil’jaeden whined through their mental link, his warm caress wavering somewhat. _‘ **Why me? Do you know how much work I have to do?’**_

 _‘Of course, brother.’_ Velen came back gentle and measured. _‘None at all until you receive some. You are ever so efficient, Kil’jaeden. Won’t you do this, for me?’_

Kil’jaeden inclined his head, licking some cream off the side of a finger. “I will look into it.”

“Excellent.” Restalaan, who sat on the other side of Velen, clasped his hands together. “Now that that’s taken care of, what’s next on the agenda?”

“An intervention for this one.” Netrezaar gestured and everyone looked towards Archimonde, who was refilling his glass.

“What is it, shit on Archi night? Back off, you. And you.” Archimonde raised his glass and drank.

“Least he’s being polite.” said Aargon.

“Hardly.” Kil’jaeden leaned forwards a bit, tension rising in the air. “You’ve been different as of late. What is it?”

“Bet he’s missing Thal’kiel.” Netrezaar cackled with his mouth full. Kil’jaeden barely resisted the urge to smack him upside the head and implored Archimonde to reply.

“Netrezaar I swear I’ll split your skull in half if you ever speak of him again.” The glass in Archimonde’s hand began to tremble. Velen was looking increasingly distressed and put both hands out to try and placate his friend.

“Please, brother. Let us not come to blows over trifling matters.”

“Unless you still _yearn_ for your old Master…” Netrezaar’s goading words saw a rise out of Archimonde, who clenched his fist so hard his glass broke.

“Oh, dear…!” Velen shook his head, anxiously running his fingers through his beard. “Are you hurt?” He tossed a few heals in his friend’s direction regardless if Archimonde was bleeding or not. Archimonde sighed, now denied the intoxication that was going to get him through the night. Netrezaar started laughing, a few others around the table having a giggle as well. Kil’jaeden just looked disappointed. And that was what hurt Archimonde the most.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Archimonde was going to undress before having an angry snooze when Velen knocked at the door. Unobtrusive as ever, Velen was granted entry by a low grunt.

 _‘Oh… I’ll have to coax his words out. We can do this…’_ He breathed in, gliding across the floor.

“Archi…”

Archimonde whirled around and glared at him. Velen’s soft purple gaze dimmed, his eyelids lowered.

“Please, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” He took a tender step forwards, hovering in place before Archimonde roughly gestured for him to sit. Folding his legs beneath him, Velen sat on the bed. He waited, the tip of his tail flicking in anticipation. Archimonde cast his robes off and left his open breeches as they were, facing away from his friend.

“I didn’t expect it to be like this.” His own reflection scowled at him from the wall-mounted mirror, and he noticed just how _hideous_ the expression made him look. He tried to fix it to no avail. “You and Kil’jaeden are so close. I’ve never had anything like that in my entire life.”

Velen’s heart churned with pity just begging to crawl up his throat and spill from his lips. But he knew it was not what Archimonde wanted to hear. He listened in silence. Archimonde turned then, anger and grief warring on his face.

“I want him to notice me. I want to belong.”

“You _do_ belong,” said Velen, but Archimonde wasn’t done yet.

“Did you hear what he said to me tonight? He hates me.”

“Oh, Archi.” Velen stood and moved to cup Archimonde’s face in his gentle hands. “Kil’jaeden doesn’t hate anybody. He just needs time to know you, that’s all.”

Archimonde scoffed. “What, like you do?”

Patient, Velen ran his thumbs over the base of Archimonde’s tendrils. Archimonde stiffened, a dark flush spreading through his cheeks.

“D-don’t do that.” He twisted his face away and Velen withdrew, placing a hand over his own chest.

“Forgive me.” Velen murmured. He gazed at Archimonde searchingly for several seconds before he spoke. “If there is anything I can do…”

Archimonde had a thought. _‘Wait. Does he want to fuck?’_ He dismissed it at once. _‘No. Not Velen.’_ He eyed the Prophet warily, something Velen took as mistrust. Velen lowered his head, and though saddened he placed no blame.

“If you wish for some time alone with Kil’jaeden, I can arrange it.”

“Sure you can.” Archimonde sat down heavily. “He _adores_ you.”

“Hm?” Velen tilted his head to the left, then smiled with a dismissive hand wave. “Many do. We are the best of friends, just as you and I will grow to be in time.”

 _‘I don’t want to be your friend.’_ Archimonde thought in a moment of darkness. _‘I want you gone.’_

Velen could sense an immense negativity coming from his companion, threatening to overwhelm him with dread. He stepped closer to the door, his compassion subdued in favour of self preservation instincts.

“I wish you all the best, brother.” He smiled faintly and left, closing the door behind him. His hooves made no sound as Archimonde listened for them, unable to discern whether Velen cared for him in truth or was just acting out of obligation.

 _‘Probably doesn’t give a shit.’_ he thought, peeling off his pants and laying on his back. _‘Why would he, anyway? I’ve done nothing for him. I’ve done nothing for **anyone** here… I did cut Thal’kiel’s head off, but then what? Fuck-all nothing.’_ He looked at the skull sitting on his dresser. It leered at him, somehow doing so without any eyelids.

“The hell are you looking at?” Archimonde spat, rolling over and burying himself under the covers. “Fuck’s sake…”

 _‘I’m losing it over someone who doesn’t even care.’_ He tried to dismiss it, he really did. Over and over he thought _‘He doesn’t care about you. You shouldn’t care about him.’_ But no matter what he told himself, his feelings did not change. The tightness in his chest when he thought of Kil’jaeden gazing at him as he did Velen, an expression he knew well. The pure joy he could feel in those moments he went deep enough into a romantic fantasy. The longing that nearly pulled him to action when he thought of the most realistic way he could get there. Archimonde solved problems quicker than most could make them, but when delicacy was needed, he often failed. And he knew this, knew that he couldn’t rush or force things as he always did. He had one chance and one alone.

_‘…What if he says **no**?’_

He folded his hands over his chest, worried. _‘Of course he’ll say no. How am I even going to ask? He loves Velen, the sappy fool.’_ Something else came to mind. _‘I could kill him… no. no. He’s the PROPHET, he’ll see it coming. But if I **was** going to, he would’ve seen it by now…’_ All this thinking drew him down fallacious paths and countless hypotheses circled around his head. He couldn’t organize any of it, and cast it all out in frustration. _‘Bloody hell. I can’t do this.’_

Even as he tried to sleep, nagging thoughts poked at him with varying degrees of insistence. He could say this, or look at Kil’jaeden _just so_ …

Morning came, and Archimonde woke after four hours of meager rest. He threw on a kilt for modesty’s sake and went downstairs to the dining hall, intending to just grab something and leave. But someone stopped him simply by being there. Standing by the bread loaves with a shit eating grin on his face, Netrezaar wiggled his tail at Archimonde.

“You’re looking good despite those burns you suffered last night.”

“Oh, shut up.” Archimonde growled, pushing past him and taking a cinnamon roll.

Netrezaar raised his hands in defense, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “My, someone’s grumpy. W-” Archimonde shoved the roll into his face and Netrezaar coughed. “Fhngk!” The force behind it actually _hurt_ , and he got the message. Archimonde took another one and left, only to see Kil’jaeden leaning on the doorframe. A bejeweled circlet adorned his head and he was fully dressed in gleaming plate armour. Archimonde paused, cocking his hips to one side as his tail made an anxious swipe.

“Where are _you_ going?” He didn’t mean to sound so accusing. Kil’jaeden simply looked at him.

“Out. Dealing with the warlocks, as Velen suggested.”

“Pah. He holds your balls in his hand. You’d eject yourself into the Nether if he willed it.” Archimonde chewed on his roll ever so slowly, monitoring Kil’jaeden’s face. He wasn’t prepared for what came next, right between his ears.

_‘You won’t have any soon if you keep that up. Settle down.’_

Archimonde startled at that, a flash of pain twisting through his body courtesy of his companion’s desire. He retreated from their connection – it had always been a feeble thing hinging on Kil’jaeden’s willingness to communicate – and thought in private.

_‘He touched me…? Yeesh, that… that kinda hurt. He’s pissed. Right. Uhh…’_

“Let me accompany you.” Archimonde tried. Kil’jaeden stared at him, incredulous.

“You think I need an escort? One consisting of _you_?”

“No.” said Archimonde, his voice cold. “I just want to come. See if those warlocks are actually a threat.”

“I can assess the situation perfectly well on my own.” Kil’jaeden folded his arms and Archimonde knew he was girding up for a debate.

 _‘He knows I won’t back down. Fuckin’ smartass.’_ Archimonde crushed the remains of his roll and licked the crumbs from his hand. “Mleh. You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Kil’jaeden the all-seeing. Oh, wait. Nobody calls you that, because you can’t see shit. Oblivious fuck.” He pushed past Kil’jaeden and then there was a heavy hand on his shoulder, drawing him back. Kil’jaeden leaned in, his tendrils twitching menacingly.

“You want to fight? Go play with your dead Master’s constructs in the streets where you belong. Leave the talking to those whose words _matter_.” Darkness ringed his eyes, permeated his suave voice. Archimonde actually stiffened in fear, and also because that tone was pretty hot. He paused a second too long, and it was then that Kil’jaeden lost interest. Standing at his full height, Kil’jaeden shoved Archimonde away none too lightly and went into the dining hall. Archimonde stumbled back, leaning against the opposite wall. The corridor was empty – nobody had seen their little altercation. But his chest felt heated where Kil’jaeden had touched – no, _pushed_ him, and only now could he process the harsh words.

 _‘The streets…? Did… did he just tell me to leave? I knew it, he doesn’t accept me no matter what he says in front of Velen. You bastard. I’ll show you why you aren’t kicking me out just yet.’_ He went up to his room and grabbed Thal’kiel’s skull, stuffing it in a bag. He slung it over one bare shoulder, strong magic seeping through the fabric and warming his skin. Already he felt powerful, like he could level Mac’Aree with the flick of a finger. From his bedroom window he could see the purple hills and orange-gold grasses of the city below, and focussed his energy for a moment. A second later he was there, arcane sparks dissipating in the air. Floral scents wafted about on the morning breeze, lost on Archimonde as his singleminded purpose blocked out most of his surroundings. He was looking for one thing only – _void_. Traces of the dark magic were easily detected with the right tools, and what better than a skull that had been full of such knowledge? He attempted to contact the skull while strolling through the streets. Thal’kiel hissed from within the bag.

_‘I will tell you nothing, traitor!’_

“So be it.” Archimonde slowed just before a group of kneeling Eredar. They were listening to a priest's sermon on something Light-related, and as Archimonde went to pass he felt the priest's attention upon him. He walked faster. _‘Gah. Wasting their time, the lot of them.’_ In this city of openness and beauty, Archimonde was hard pressed to find any dark corners in which sneaky people might hide. Everywhere he looked, architectural wonders looked back at him. Lush, vibrant flowers swayed in the wind and numerous Eredar went about their daily business. Archimonde eyed a tall Vindicator who was following someone, thinking himself unseen by his prey. The woman seemed to be in a hurry, and looked behind her. Then she picked up her pace. The Vindicator called out in a clear, commanding tone.

“Stop there!”

She ran. Archimonde watched the chase brought short by one swift spell and the Vindicator had his prize writhing in mana chains.

“Nnh! I-I’ve done nothing wrong!” she cried, clutching a locked chest close to her body.

“You run like a guilty marsuul!” The Vindicator folded his thick arms. “What is that you’ve got there?”

“None of your businesssss…” Sharp teeth were bared and Archimonde sensed a dark aura surrounding the woman. Or rather, Thal’kiel did and tugged Archimonde’s bag half off his shoulder. Archimonde adjusted it and approached the scene, where a bit of a crowd had gathered.

“What’s going on here?” he asked in his most authoritative tone. The Vindicator jerked his head in Archimonde’s direction, hesitant to take his eyes off the obvious criminal.

“This one here is up to no good.”

“Is that so?” Archimonde observed the woman with her tail between her legs, fury and fear in her indigo eyes. “Release her. I will look after this.”

The Vindicator had been well trained to obey his superiors and bowed, giving his prey one last filthy look before leaving. Archimonde waved his hand around.

“Nothing to see here. Be at peace, all of you.” He gave his most charismatic smile to the faces in the crowd and most of them mirrored it, wandering off. Now unchained, the woman who was one Archimonde knew, stood.

“Asshole.” she muttered. “Broke my damn heel.”

“You can buy new ones. Good to see you still breathing, Talissae.” Archimonde brought out Thal’kiel’s skull and made its jaw move. “The Master says hi.”

“Geesh. Nice gildwork. Better not show that around here.” Talissae looked around nervously and then dragged Archimonde into an alleyway, well-lit with purple crystals. From a displacement field, several of Thal’kiel’s former disciples emerged. They gazed upon Archimonde with distrust.

“I’m not here to decapitate you lot.” Archimonde said, leaning against the side of a building. “I’ve come to warn you. Kil’jaeden’s going to investigate your dark magics since whatever you lot are doing with it, you suck at hiding.” Back into the bag the skull went, and Talissae screwed up her face with distaste. Archimonde didn’t care. “What _are_ you guys doing, anyway?”

“None of your business, traitor.” Talissae joined the other ex-disciples who were standing inside a sigil ring. “And don’t tell us you’re on our side. You side with none but yourself.”

Archimonde groaned heavily. _‘Great. More of this.’_

“You know what? I should just let Kil’jaeden eat you alive.”

 _“But I just had breakfast.”_ came the voice of Kil’jaeden, right behind Archimonde’s head.  Archimonde swiveled around and nearly cracked his nose off on the wall. There was nobody inside it. He checked his mental connections and sure enough, Kil’jaeden was listening in there.

_‘What the ABSOLUTE FUCK are YOU doing in here?!’_

Kil’jaeden seemed offended. _‘ **I could ask you the same thing.** ’_

 _‘IT’S **MY** BRAIN!!!’_ Archimonde forced him out just as Kil’jaeden in the flesh walked around the far left corner.

“Shit.” Talissae clicked her fingers and up went the displacement field, soon to be incinerated by Kil’jaeden’s quick reflexes. He counterspelled the next attempt at evasion and stood right beside Archimonde, hands on his hips.

“Now, then. What’s going on here?”

Talissae’s eyes flicked about. Her companions were shaking in their knee-high platform boots. Chains rattled as she tilted her head up in defiance.

“Come, now.” Kil’jaeden looked sympathetic and condescending at once. “Will you explain what you’ve been up to or should Archimonde pull the words from your crushed throat?”

Talissae faltered, breath hitching. She could actually feel tendrils of ill intent coiling around her neck and rubbed at it uneasily.

“You… don’t scare me. And neither does your angry dog.”

“THE HELL YOU JUST CALL ME?” Archimonde stomped into Talissae’s personal space, tail lashing as masculine rage filled his body. Before he started roaring insults, he was going to give her a good pummeling as he’d been waiting years for the chance. Talissae bared her spiky little teeth and clenched both hands into fists, purple energy coiling around them. Archimonde was dragged even closer towards her, his strength seeping away as a horrible sickness roiled in the pit of his stomach. Kil’jaeden watched with interest, a finger to his lip.

“Whaa..whauughh the fughh are ya doin?! Kil-Kil’jaedeeeeeen!! HEEAUURHGHG!” Archimonde vomited a huge black mass just past Talissae’s shoulder and it stood up, opening a wide jagged maw. Beady white eyes glowed in what passed for a face and Kil’jaeden stared.

“Ooh.” While fascinated, he was somewhat worried that the warlocks were able to do something like this, especially to a warrior as fierce as Archimonde. _‘I suppose he doesn’t have many magical defenses. Guess I’ll have to save him.’_

Kil’jaeden raised one hand. “Enough.” Three rings appeared in his palm and projected outwards, rotating with runes glowing orange around each one. “Cease unless you want your next meeting to take place in an ashtray.”

Talissae stepped back, around the void creature and released Archimonde from her draining grip. Archimonde doubled over and hit the floor, gasping for breath. His skin had lost all colour, now ghostly white. Kil’jaeden sent a flamestrike towards the fleeing warlocks, incinerating the voidwalker just for good measure. He had enough information to make an educated decision as to whether the warlocks should live or die. And he’d decided to let them live… for now. It totally wasn’t because of his own curiosity about the magics only they knew how to perform. Never.

He picked Archimonde up and made him stand, leaning him against a wall.

“Never knew you were pregnant. Usually it comes out the other end.” He tried to joke but Archimonde was having none of it and groaned.

“Guuuuuh…” His thoughts were scrambled, and Archimonde just felt absolutely horrible. He wrapped his arms around himself, tail curled in. After a few minutes he looked up at Kil’jaeden blearily. “Went to the streets just like you said.”

Kil’jaeden facepalmed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Could’ve told me.” Archimonde coughed and dark blood flecked the ground. “Didn’t need your help. I was gonna… find out all their secrets…”  
“Don’t lie. You considered joining them, didn’t you?” Kil’jaeden gestured to the bag. “That thing is corrupting you.”

“No it’s not.” Archimonde breathed in, a wet sound squishing in his lungs. “Ghk. It’s an inanimate object, Kil’jaeden.”

“ _You_ ’re an inanimate object, one I’m taking home.” Kil’jaeden picked up Archimonde and carried him over one shoulder. “Graah, you’re heavy.”

“Don’t nearly eat as much as you.” Archimonde muttered with his hands slapping against Kil’jaeden’s backside. _‘Oh. This is nice.’_

“I heard that.” Kil’jaeden swatted his friend’s hands away with a flick of his tail, then Archimonde grabbed it. “Let go.”

“Nuh.”

“I’ll drop you.”

“Then Velen will skin you.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“He totally would.” Archimonde pictured the look on Velen’s face when the news got to him that Kil’jaeden left their third member to die. “Heh heh heh…”

“Risk I’m willing to take, then.” Kil’jaeden suplexed Archimonde into the alleyway and briskly strode off through Mac’Aree as if nothing had happened. He dipped his tail in the nearest fountain, feeling somewhat unclean, and sighed. Of course he wasn’t going to leave Archimonde there, but he needed some time alone.

Archimonde lay flat on the ground and thought to himself. _‘Man, that is one nice ass. Would endanger my life again for it. 10/10.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really need to play more ptr to make this accurate but whatever lmao


	3. Chapter 3

“You could have _died_!” Velen sat in front of Archimonde on a long chaise, Kil’jaeden beside him. Archimonde rolled his eyes at his friend’s concern.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” He showed off his biceps, turning in a circle. No physical injuries were present. “I’m fine, see?”

“Ooohhhhh…” Velen fidgeted anxiously, looking about to faint from stress. “Come here.” He beckoned with haste and Archimonde obeyed, suddenly being gripped by a beam of protective light into Velen’s lap. Kil’jaeden leaned back and observed as Velen’s healing hands ran all over Archimonde, sucking out what corruption he could.

“Touched by the Void...! Our own dear Archi!” Velen turned to Kil’jaeden, holding Archimonde’s cheeks between his palms. “How could you let this happen?”

“Oh, stop mothering him.” Kil’jaeden said as calmly as he could, his sullen face betraying him. “A lot happened that was beyond my ability to counteract.”

“But your reflexes are beyond compare! Surely you could have done something!” Velen stroked Archimonde’s cheek tenderly. “Look at him. He’s traumatised.”

“ _Yeah_ , Kil’jaeden. Shame.” Archimonde poked his tongue out, nodding along with Velen. Kil’jaeden breathed out through his nose sharply.

“Well. At least we got what we went for.”

“You went together?” Velen suddenly brightened, glancing between Archimonde and Kil’jaeden. “What did you learn?” he said out loud, while whispering to Archimonde’s mind, _‘Did you have fun on your little date?’_

Archimonde choked on his own tongue and was wracked by a series of dry coughs. Velen giggled as he knew Archimonde was well, having just personally healed him. “Oh my.”

“We did _not_ go together.” Kil’jaeden said. “He followed me.”

“Ghahh! I did NOT! I went to do my own investigation!”

“How irresponsible.” There was no true displeasure in Velen’s voice. He smiled cheekily, rubbing his face against Archimonde’s shoulder like a cat. “The things we do for our friends, hm?”

“That’s right.” Archimonde beamed. “Without me, you never would’ve found a lead into those sneaky warlocks.”

Kil’jaeden clicked his fingers and a bright purple projection appeared above his right hand. “I had a map.”

“Map, _crap_! Action gets results.”

“It also gets you begging for me to save you.” Kil’jaeden smirked, and it was GG from there. Archimonde narrowed his eyes.

“What? I was NOT begging!”

Kil’jaeden put on a falsetto high and pretty to mock Archimonde.

“Ooooh, Kil’jaeden~! Save me! Owwww oof my bones hurt!”

“RRRARRGH!” Archimonde leaped off Velen’s lap and tackled Kil’jaeden off the chaise, pinning him to the floor.

“Ah, no no! Save that for the bedroom!” Velen flapped his hands about and suddenly the fighting stopped. Kil’jaeden sat up, Archimonde’s fingers around his throat.

“The- what?”

Velen simply grinned that childish, pure grin of his and winked. He floated off, leaving one very puzzled Kil’jaeden beneath an irate Archimonde. Breathing heavily, Archimonde squeezed Kil’jaeden’s throat. Kil’jaeden blasted him in the chest with a burst of defensive magic, growling.

“Get off me.”

On his feet, Archimonde squared his shoulders with hands up, ready to throw a few punches.

“Light, what is _wrong_ with you? You act like a harlot in _tarkath_. Even _Velen_ thinks so.”

“He’s not wrong.” Bold as ever, Archimonde smirked. “Wouldn’t mind getting a piece of your ass.”

“W-Wha…” Kil’jaeden spluttered as his eloquence died from shock. “My…” His face darkened, aghast. “Archimonde! How _dare_ you?”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Fuck, lighten up.” Archimonde played it off with a scoff and headed for the door. “You ain’t got a sense of humour.”

Kil’jaeden was left to regain his composure and wonder just what the world was coming to.

Later that day, he found Velen sitting on the upstairs balcony, overlooking Mac’Aree. Velen turned to greet him and a beautiful smile graced his kind face.

“Brother! Did you enjoy your time with Archimonde?”

“Not exactly.”

Velen’s face fell. “What happened?”

Kil’jaeden sat beside him and hunched over a little, but Velen was having none of that and put a hand on Kil’jaeden’s chest.

“Now, now. None of that. Tell me what went wrong.”

 _‘He knows me too well.’_ Kil’jaeden thought. _‘He can see right through me…’_

“He said he wanted a… forgive the crude expression – _a piece of my ass_. What does that even mean?!”

“You know what it means.” Velen chirped, flicking at Kil’jaeden’s tendrils playfully.

“N..no I don’t! It’s far too inappropriate, I hardly _know_ him, and…”

“You do have an excellent posterior.” Velen noted, and Kil’jaeden blushed all the way to the tips of his ears. “I seeeee alllll~!” Wiggling his fingers, Velen tickled Kil’jaeden under the chin.

“Nyeeheehee… Velen, what’s gotten into you? Have you been smoking that astral bloom again?”

“Not at all.” Velen nuzzled Kil’jaeden, embracing him from the side. He rested his head on his friend’s shoulder, being tall enough to easily do so. “Mm. He likes you, you know.”

“Everyone does.”

“I mean in the way that… ehehehehe.” Velen dissolved into laughter, unable to keep a serious expression when thinking about sexual matters. “He wants to stick his… in your.. ahahahaha!”

“Definitely been smoking. Oh, brother.” Kil’jaeden cuddled Velen as he was ever eager to reciprocate the manifold affections bestowed upon him. It was well known at the Seat that the best way to induce visions on command was to grind a certain flower into dust and then light the dust on fire, breathing it in. The side effects made Velen all sorts of silly, and Kil’jaeden found it cute but also worrisome. As time went on, Velen had been growing detached from reality the more visions he forced. He only wanted what was best for their people, and eliminating the unknown through countless prophecies was the only way he knew how to get it. Kil’jaeden wished he didn’t push himself so far. The times he challenged his friend on the subject actually brought about the rare moments of Velen’s anger, something explosive, deadly and defensive. Kil’jaeden had learned well after seeing a table flip. Now, he relished the positive calm radiating from Velen’s delicate form, an arm around his friend’s waist.

 _‘This… mm. This is perfect. Nothing to worry for now. Such peace…’_ The clarity Velen brought Kil’jaeden was addictive, in the way that it soothed his racing mind. Kil’jaeden was always thinking about _something_ , overdoing it to the point of near madness. Velen always instilled a sense of peace and wellness deep in Kil’jaeden’s soul, and Kil’jaeden didn’t know how to repay it. Velen didn’t want anything, anything at all. Always giving, never taking. Rarely asking. Usually suggesting.

_‘Ah, Velen, my beloved guiding light. If only my words could deliver me further into your arms…’_

Kil’jaeden was patient, yes. He knew how to appreciate the past and present, yes. But he was mortal, and in his heart was urgency, desire, _need_.

_‘…I should ask for advice.’_

Hours passed, and when Kil’jaeden was alone he tugged at his hair in distress.

 _‘Unbelievable! Not one person!’_ He couldn’t think of anyone to trust with his feelings for Velen, tiny percentages of failure holding him back. There was Talgath, one of Velen’s closest confidants and an all round good guy, but he was so loyal that he would gossip to Velen the first chance he got. There was Restalaan, who seemed to understand the intricacies of lawbooks better than romance. Netrezaar didn’t have his head screwed on right and Aargon would probably laugh. Kil’jaeden had been through _everyone_ he knew. _‘I guess I’ll have to keep this private for a little longer. But how much longer will it be until I… what, make friends and trust someone with the most intricate secrets of my heart? No. That’s inefficient. A… a risk, then? No. I can’t. I can’t risk this. What then can I do…?’_ He paced around his study, remembering his earlier interactions with Velen and Archimonde. A thought hit him. _‘Archimonde is young enough to understand. No, not understand, but… offer a fresh perspective. I will veil this as necessary.’_ He threw on a black tunic with matching pants, tied up his hair and went to find Archimonde. He pinged Archimonde mentally as he wandered about, and was met with a tidal wave of shame.

_‘What…? What’s going on?’_

Archimonde didn’t seem to respond, his mind vulnerable and leaving the connection wide open.

 _‘Archimonde.’_ Kil’jaeden pressed, then froze. A lash of energy whacked at him, crawling down his back. In silence he pushed himself further into Archimonde’s consciousness only to be overwhelmed by the amount of emotional turmoil in there. _‘Oh. Now’s not a good time.’_ Archimonde was in the dark, beating himself with a long chain. Over one shoulder he hit and then over the other, nerve impulses blocking out a screaming mind. Kil’jaeden retreated out of respect but also horror.

 _‘He… something’s wrong with him.’_ He’d heard stories of people causing physical pain to themselves on purpose, usually out of madness or grief. _‘Has… he lost someone? He seemed perfectly fine this morning. Wait, was there some aspect of the Void that Velen failed to cleanse? Is it eating away at him inside?! I have to do something!’_ In a snap decision he zeroed in on Archimonde’s location and started running, righteous power in every step. By the time he got to the underground storage floor he ran right into Archimonde, empty-handed and with puffy eyes. Archimionde stepped back and hissed.

“What the fuck are you doing down here?”

“What are _you_?” Kil’jaeden tried to sound compassionate, he really did, but he absolutely _hated_ being spoken to like that.

“Nothin’.” Archimonde pushed past him and Kil’jaeden turned around, placing a hand on his back. Archimonde winced.

“Who hurt you?”

“Some coward who hits from behind.” Archimonde said as if he’d practiced it. Kil’jaeden knew he was lying.

“Yeah? Someone who you let hit you over and over again?” He kept feeling around the fresh welts in Archimonde’s skin and suddenly the wounded Eredar turned around, raising his hand. Kil’jaeden caught it, their faces now close.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“You _don’t care_.” Archimonde snarled with conviction, wrenching himself away. His shallow, shaky breathing and unstable stance told Kil’jaeden there would be either blood or tears spilled soon, and neither would be pleasant.

“If I didn’t care, would I be down here listening to you spit my words back at me?” Disbelief edged Kil’jaeden’s voice. “Am I wasting my time or are you going to let me help you?”

“You can’t help me.” Archimonde muttered. “No-one can.” He ran then and Kil’jaeden was too stunned to chase after him.

 _‘What could he possibly mean…?’_ The purpose of the Triumverate was to solve Argus’s problems. If Archimonde had one so insurmountable that the planet’s best problem-solvers could not fix… what were they even here for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he sm0nk w33d LOL
> 
> btw. 'Tarkath' is Eredun for the first month of Spring, aka MATING SEASON. What? Eredar ain't humans, they can toooootally have something like that. xD (yeah i want to write some smut later)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heavy angst inc

A few weeks went by. Kil’jaeden kept a close eye on Archimonde, as close as he could anyway when it seemed like the Eredar was avoiding him. He eventually gave up trying to press the most opportune moments and filed his knowledge away for later use. Life in Mac’Aree went on as normal, and surprisingly enough there were no tales of violent murders or escaped Void creatures. The Vindicators were doing their job keeping peace around the city. Quite a few of them attended the Seat’s weekly dinner meetings and one evening, Kil’jaeden noticed one of them staring in his direction. She was strong of stature with greyish-blue eyes, attentive to the conversation with her eyes trained on one person only. Kil’jaeden eyed her a moment, and upon receiving no response he realized something. She wasn’t looking at _him_ , she was looking at Velen. Velen was going for his beloved noodles as usual and had no idea he was being watched. Kil’jaeden nudged him mentally.

_‘I think Vindicator Aeterna wishes to speak with you.’_

Velen glanced at her and as soon as he did, she looked away with a curt smile. Kil’jaeden narrowed his eyes.

_‘She was staring at you as if you had arghetti stuck in your beard.’_

Velen combed his fingers through his beard, anxious. _‘I don’t, do I?’_

 _‘No, no.’_ Kil’jaeden’s gaze lingered on Aeterna for a few moments before he realized someone was speaking to him.

“So?” Restalaan raised his fluffy white eyebrows. “What’s our next move?”

“What do you suggest?” asked Kil’jaeden smoothly. “Don’t leave me to think of _all_ the good ideas.” A few people laughed at that. Restalaan put on a gracious smile and tried his best.

“Perhaps an expedition to another planet would yield the resources we need. With the rising temperatures, our Argunite reserves are depleting much quicker than usual.”

“Ah, yes, beat the heat by THROWING OURSELVES INTO THE NETHER.” Archimonde slammed his fist down on the table, glaring at Restalaan and not letting Kil’jaeden get a word in. “Are you nuts?! We could be eaten by void creatures or something.”

“I’m sure they prefer marinated warlocks, not… whatever you are.” Restalaan said with a challenging tilt of his chin. His tendrils swung about as if angered, too. “Now, unless you have any better ideas…”

“Why don’t we take the sun and push it somewhere else?” Archimonde made a stabbing motion with one finger. “Mess with its orbit a little, take it further from Argus.”

“It’ll crash into us within fifty years, you fool.” said Etraalos, the Seat’s wisest astronomer . “That’s how orbit works.”

“Huh.” Archimonde didn’t know that. He shrugged. “Whatever.”

“We have little to fear in the Nether.” said a priest, trying to calm things down. “With the power of the Light guiding us, no harm shall come to the faithful.”

“That’s right.” Velen agreed. “We have working ships and fine crews to man them. A little expedition should be fun.” He turned to the right. “What say you, Kil’jaeden?”

Kil’jaeden blinked out of his thoughts. “Hm? Oh, yes. Definitely.”

“He’s not listening~~~” Netrezaar hadn’t managed to sit beside Kil’jaeden today and so he jeered from across the table. “You’re all boring our resident genius with your blathering.”

Velen gave him a disapproving look, then returned his attention to Kil’jaeden. “Brother, what’s the matter? You’re usually so engaged.”

Kil’jaeden sipped at his wine for a moment. “Mhnn. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”  
“Share it with us, then.” Restalaan said. “Maybe we can help you.”

Kil’jaeden drained his glass and got ready to explain. “I have a friend who wishes to court his direct superior. He is afeared of things going wrong and has asked me for advice that I cannot give.”

“What, are you a virgin?” Netrezaar picked up a sausage on his fork and wobbled it at Kil’jaeden. “I could help you-”  
“No.” Kil’jaeden shook his head. “Save that for _tarkath_. What am I to tell my friend?”

“Who is it?” Restalaan regarded Kil’jaeden with suspicion. “Why haven’t you mentioned this to us before?”

“He told me just yesterday.” Kil’jaeden shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest clue what to tell him.”

“Honesty.” said Velen. “Honesty and a pure heart will lead your friend to a good life.”

“Just be direct.” Archimonde muttered. “Go right for the nuts.”

“Sweeten her with gifts.” Restalaan suggested. “It is workplace appropriate.”

“Hmm…” Kil’jaeden listened and remembered. _‘How am I supposed to apply any of this?’_

Archimonde was taking notes too, trying to mimic Kil’jaeden’s foolproof plan for success. _‘Funny he should mention courtship. That’s just what I need advice on… let’s see, honesty, gifts, and of course going right for the nuts hasn’t worked so… Wait. Why don’t I ever take my own counsel? I could just go and ask him.’_ His brows raised slowly as many thoughts clicked together. _‘He apparently cares for me somewhat, that’s a good starting point. Good thing he didn’t catch me distracting myself last month, he would’ve thought me the most pathetic being on Argus.’_ Archimonde often coped with his excessively aggressive and worrisome thoughts by working his body to exhaustion. When that didn’t work, he would replace fatigue with pain and that usually shut up his mind. And he did feel ever so good afterwards…

“Thank you.” Kil’jaeden’s lips curled up at the corners, showing a glimpse of his perfect white teeth. “I will let him know.”

Archimonde rested his head on one hand, removed somewhat from the conversation and instead gazing at Kil’jaeden. _‘So pretty.’_ he thought. _‘I’ll have you soon.’_

 

The next day, Velen went to Kil’jaeden’s study with a grim look on his face. He knocked softly, and was granted entry at once.

“Good to see you.” Kil’jaeden purred, setting down the multicolored cube he’d been playing with. “Is something the matter?”

“It’s Archimonde.” Velen draped himself politely across the nearby couch, unconsciously offering Kil’jaeden a good look under his robes. “Has he spoken to you lately?”

Kil’jaeden went to say something, then stopped himself. He cleared his throat. _‘You… are not wearing pants. Okay. HM.’_

“He has not, no. Why do you ask?”  
“I do not think he likes me very much.” Velen’s brows sagged with despair. “I only wanted to reassure him of his place among us.”

“It is natural that he feels outcast.” Kil’jaeden regretted the words almost as soon as he said them. “He is a newcomer to an established group-”

“Kil’jaeden!” Velen sat upright, shocked. “How could you say that? He is our _friend_ , our brother, and should never feel outcast among us!”

“Forgive me.” Kil’jaeden lowered his head. “I just don’t want you to blame yourself for his behaviour.”

“His _feelings_. There is darkness in his heart, and it is crushing him. He suffers, I know it!”

“From what? What can we do, then?” Kil’jaeden threw his hands up, a growl escaping him.

“He loves you.” Velen said plainly. Kil’jaeden’s eyes widened.

“Eh? What, we’ve gone from like to love now? You…” He wasn’t going to doubt Velen’s sanity aloud, but within his own vast mind he certainly considered the possibility. Kil’jaeden looked away, his long tendrils sweeping against his chest. “That doesn’t make any sense.” he said quietly.

“He told me so.” Velen raised a finger, as if about to start a lecture. “He wants you to notice him, and he yearns for closeness.”

“That just means that he’s lonely and idolizes me, just like everyone else!” Kil’jaeden made a quick conclusion and shook his head. “I won’t play into it.”

“Whyever not?” Velen’s smooth voice grew heated which alarmed Kil’jaeden. “He has done nothing wrong to you.”

“I cannot love him back, not in a thousand lifetimes of this world!” Kil’jaeden desperately tried to explain. “My heart belongs to another!”

“Who?” Velen went from irate to curious at once. “Light, who is it?”

“It’s you.” Kil’jaeden looked Velen right in the eyes, and after a moment’s pause the Prophet laughed softly.

“Oh, Kil’jaeden! You misunderstand! This is a _different_ kind of love. Archimonde wants you in a romantic way, the way that people celebrate with their bodies.”

Kil’jaeden wanted to die. “I… I see.” was all he could get out, rising to his hooves with his tail drooping between his thighs. “I will speak to him.” He left abruptly, leaving one very amused Velen to relax in his study.

 _‘Oblivious! Absolutely oblivious.’_ He scraped his nails against the pristine railings as he descended twenty stairs, reaching the Seat’s ground floor. _‘What is the difference? Love is love, powerful and all-consuming. He thinks what I feel for him, I can share?’_ Kil’jaeden had to stop before he doubled over in physical and mental anguish. Leaning on the gilded rail, he breathed in. _‘Of course he does. Pure, innocent Velen thinks everyone can share everything, or at least that we should. He doesn’t understand a thing!’_ Then something came to his mind, a nasty, dark little thought that infected his others with irrational fear. _‘If he doesn’t understand the love I feel for him… that means he doesn’t feel it for me. I am just a friend to him, and… and… there is no hope?! WHAT? No. There have to be more options.’_   He sank down to sit on the stairs, uncaring that he was crushing his tail. Lost in his mind he did not notice someone approaching him, and who should it be but Archimonde?

“Oi.” Archimonde kicked him in the shin, hard enough to pull him out of his headspace. “Move.”

“Gah! What was that for?” Kil’jaeden stood up, unable to regain his composure quickly enough. His face was stricken, eyes watery. Archimonde looked at him.

“What’s up with you? Ran out of moisturizer?”

“At least I have the sense to use it…!” Kil’jaeden moved away from the stairs and gestured. “On your way.”

“No, no. Now I’m curious.” Archimonde leaned in, and he looked genuinely curious rather than mocking, as Kil’jaeden was wont to believe.

“I don’t have time for this.” Kil’jaeden was having serious trouble regulating his emotions and went to flee, but Archimonde grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him a little.

“C’mon. What’ve I done that you won’t even talk to me?”

 _‘Velen expects me to look after you and your Voiddamned feelings. I’ve got my own problems to… to deal with…’_ Kil’jaeden’s face began to crumple up in a most undignified manner, and Archimonde stared in horror.

“What the- dude, are you _crying_?”

“I’M FUCKING NOT!” Kil’jaeden roared, silvery tears already streaming down his cheeks as he grabbed Archimonde by the face and shoved him into the wall. Archimonde definitely hadn’t expected that and by the time his vision came back into focus, Kil’jaeden was gone. He rubbed the side of his head, confused.

 _‘Geez. Bad day, then. Alright. Shit, does he hate me now that I pissed him off while he was being a sook? Crap. Oh, but that makes us even then, eh? Wonder where he’s gone.’_ Archimonde went off looking, tracking Kil’jaeden’s presence which hadn’t been masked at all in his hasty escape. He found the Eredar looking the exact opposite of majestic, curled up and sitting in an alcove with only his tail peeking out of it. Kil’jaeden had managed to fold himself up and was sobbing quietly into his hands. Archimonde listened for a few seconds, looked up and down the corridor, then approached.

“Found ya.”

Kil’jaeden whined, making himself even smaller but unable to cast any spells due to his frantic mental state.

“Gnnneeeee…”

“Come on, bro. What’s the problem? I’ll fix it, take the head of whoever pissed you off.”

“You– you can’t.” Kil’jaeden drew in a shuddering breath, exhaling a series of thin, feeble noises. “It… fuck, just go.”

“No.” Archimonde folded his arms. “What, do you hate me that badly?”

“No…” Kil’jaeden stole a watery glance at him then looked away, gritting his teeth. “You’re… just… difficult. Ghh.”

“Oh?” Archimonde had to laugh. “I guess. You’re used to people giving up when you say so, eh?” _‘Thank the Light. He doesn’t hate me. NICE.’_ He watched the tip of Kil’jaeden’s tail spasm a little, and was tempted to grab it. He resisted, however.

“Velen… wants me to look after you.” Kil’jaeden forced himself to look at Archimonde, his soul bared. “I can’t.”

“Eh?” Archimonde had a sinking feeling he couldn’t quite address. “What do you mean?”

Kil’jaeden gestured violently in the direction of Archimonde’s waist, blinking heavily. “Says you’re lonely or some shit, and that I should attend to you. You’re… you’re a bloody adult, can’t you handle yourself?”

Archimonde narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what he told you. You think _I_ ’m lonely? I’ve got plenty of friends.”

In the silence that followed, _‘Name one’_ went unsaid. Kil’jaeden managed to stabilize his breathing somewhat and clutched his face, fingers scratching at his crest.

“You’ve got to conduct yourself better.” he growled. “If you let your emotions get in the way of your work… you… you can’t stay with us. Our _people_ need us, not…”

“Don’t we also need each other?” Archimonde’s voice was cold. “You and Velen have each other.”

Kil’jaeden wailed softly, his shoulders shaking. Archimonde continued.

“So forgive me if I seem _lonely_ in the absence of such close friendship…” He noticed Kil’jaeden’s mounting distress and looked at him. “Hey…”

“I can’t live without him.” Kil’jaeden whimpered. “I can’t share.”

“Eh?” Archimonde sounded genuinely surprised. “I’m not asking you to share-”

“Yes you fucking ARE!” Kil’jaeden swore with uncharacteristic emotion, clawing at his face. “You’re asking for a piece of me when I’m barely whole!”

“Whaaaa…? Man, you _do_ have issues.” Archimonde stepped back, processing all this as quickly as he could. Kil’jaeden only sobbed harder, an absolute mess in his little corner. “Dude, uh… I don’t know what to say.”

Kil’jaeden made an incoherent sound, and now feeling terribly awkward Archimonde ran off.

 _‘Shit._ ’ He thought as his hooves carried him outside, Summer heat blasting him in the face. _‘But he’s perfect! How can he be ‘not whole’? What does that even mean? He missing a testicle or something? What’s the deal with him and Velen? What am I missing here?’_ He saw all this as resistance – if Velen wasn’t there to mess with things, Kil’jaeden would surely be within his grasp. But there was not yet the malice in Archimonde’s heart to strike down poor, innocent Velen, and so he had to find a way around this perceived obstacle. He didn’t even know what his goal was other than to have his way with Kil’jaeden whenever he damn well pleased. To sit in his lap as Velen did, lavishing endless kisses upon his beautiful face. To stroke his hair as he slept, and to hold him when he cried. He kicked himself mentally for missing the chance. _‘Why didn’t I hold him? I should’ve. Damn, I’m not good at this comforting thing. He’s so weird when he’s upset, why can’t he be normal so at least then I know how to talk to him? Cold and professional, sure, but anything’s better than… that!’_ He could still feel in his mind the anguish coming from Kil’jaeden’s end of their connection. Velen, meanwhile, was sleeping and none the wiser. Archimonde balled his hands into tight fists, the midday sun scorching his scalp.

_‘Stupid Velen. Why can’t you be there when he needs you?’_

Then he had a thought.

 _‘…Why ain’t **I** there when he needs me? Gah, he doesn’t fucking need me, who am I kidding? He just needs to sort himself out, and then everything will be fine. Yeah, that’s on him. None of my damn business.’_ He shut down his thoughts as he began to run, doing a few laps of the Seat to take his mind off things.

As the days went by, Archimonde took to physical training for a few hours each morning. He had to distract himself while giving Kil’jaeden time to recover from… whatever had distressed him so, and in the meantime Archimonde felt pretty good about staying in shape. As the sun rose at dawn, Mac’Aree was bathed in glittering hues of gold. It made for some nice scenery as Archimonde ran around, early enough to appreciate the cool air against his skin.

Kil’jaeden meanwhile was a stoic, unreadable wall of dedication in his study. Upon waking he went to work on everything Archimonde left behind, knowing that if something needed doing, he himself was best at it. Well, as long as the something didn’t involve spilling his heart to Velen.

And where was Velen, the eternally patient bastion of worship? He was meditating outside, something he did on the nights he couldn’t sleep. The sun kissed his lilac face and he opened both eyes, gazing out at the distant hills. Orange and gold edged the purple peaks as far as he could see, and he smiled in appreciation of the natural beauty. How he loved his world, his ancient, mountainous, blessed Argus. Its people were noble, its creatures clever, and its temperatures liveable. The past few centuries had seen minor increases in Summer temperatures which worried Velen somewhat, but he had not foreseen any tragedies because of it. Not yet.

 _‘Something will change.’_ He thought with his hands on his knees, tail rustling in the grass beneath where he floated. _‘I can feel it.’_ His attempts at seeing into the future increased manifold whenever he was anxious, and he knew he’d been overdoing it for the past few years. Kil’jaeden had told him so, but he’d innocently dismissed his friend’s concerns. Kil’jaeden knew best, always, but Velen could not fight his own impulses when they kept him up at night, screaming _what if, what if, what if?_ Kil’jaeden would not want his inner peace to be disturbed. So Velen rationalized his forced foretellings and continued to push at the fabric of reality. He was near to slipping into a trance when a light clinking sound caught his attention. Beside him, Vindicator Aeterna sat down in full plate armour, her long dark hair tied in a bun behind her curved horns. Velen turned to her, inclining his head with a serene smile on his face.

“Light bless you, my child.”

“And also you, Prophet.” Aeterna bowed as best she could. She took up a similar position to Velen, legs crossed and hands on her knees. “We are fortunate to gaze upon such beauty this morning.”

“Indeed we are. I must be extra fortunate to be graced with your presence.” Velen’s eyes lingered on Aeterna for a few seconds, and she blushed.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all. Your company is appreciated.” Reaching out, Velen brushed a single finger along Aeterna’s cheek and her doubts melted away, clarity coming to her mind.

“I have felt kinship to you for quite some time.” Aeterna spoke after a moment’s hesitation. “Why might this be so?”

“Oh…?” Velen tilted his head to the side, stroking his lush, dark beard in thought. Aeterna’s eyes were upon him, albeit from the side as if it was sin to gaze upon his sheer loveliness. “We are both Eredar, are we not?”

“We are.” Aeterna shifted a little closer to him. “Your ways with the Light inspire me, and your pure soul is home to virtues I dream of.”

Mild surprise dawned on Velen’s face, his lips parting ever so slightly.

“Ah…” He curled his fingers around a tentacle, bashful. “You admire me.”

“I… I suppose I do.” Aeterna wondered if the glorious Prophet was actually _shy_ , and found his behaviour so endearing that she unconsciously mirrored it. Glancing away, she murmured under her breath. “Please, will you teach me your ways?”

“Of course.” Selfless as ever, Velen nodded. “I will make time for you each day, if you would like to see me for a lesson or two.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Prophet. I look forward to it.” Aeterna was almost trembling with excitement, but kept her voice calm and gave Velen a fond little pat on the shoulder. “My duties call me to protect our people for the day.” She hoped he wouldn’t be upset. Rather, Velen gazed at her with newfound appreciation and his eyes sparkled.

“Serve well, and may peace be with you, Aeterna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're young, they can be emotional beings, there can be misunderstandings and negativity in life... LOL yeah i did throw IC out the window kinda, sorry :X


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now it's Velen's turn for a bit of angst.

Kil’jaeden noticed _everything._ And if it existed, he would think about it. For the past week he had been seeing that one Vindicator wandering around the Seat as if she had business there, and the Seat already had plenty of guards. He confronted her one day just as she entered his field of view, doing nothing to hide the fact that he’d been hiding behind a corner. He stood before Aeterna, silent and foreboding. She looked up at him, confused.

“What business have you here?” asked Kil’jaeden, unaware of how threatening he looked.

“I have done nothing wrong.” Aeterna took a little step back, tail sticking straight out behind her. “You… you are stressed, my Lord.”

“And curious.” Kil’jaeden secretly reveled in her deference, but took a more casual line of questioning. “I don’t often see the face of someone who doesn’t work here on a daily basis. Have you taken up alternative duties?”

“Oh, no.” Aeterna shook her head. “I would never forsake my duty to our people. I am studying under the Prophet’s guidance.”

Kil’jaeden slowly raised his silver brows until his forehead plating ached. After several seconds he cleared his throat, a growl escaping him. Aeterna tried not to flinch. Her slim tendrils did it for her.

“Do not be afraid.” Kil’jaeden said. “Goodness, you are highly strung.”  
“I must be.” Aeterna raised her chin and Kil’jaeden didn’t like that at all.

“Why? There is little danger in Mac’Aree, where you are _supposed_ to be.”

“Oh, I quite enjoy protecting our people from a nonexistent threat.” she said flippantly, closing the distance between them now. “But I don’t enjoy the stance you take as if I am some intruder on your property.”

Kil’jaeden narrowed his eyes dangerously and Aeterna knew she had crossed a line, though what kind of line she wasn’t sure. Without a word Kil’jaeden let his presence sink in, the greatest mind on Argus with spellcasting and debating skills beyond compare. His powerful build suggested that even a trained soldier would not be able to take him down, even through his light, see-through robes. He glared down at Aeterna until she folded under his blinding gaze.

“I… I must go.” she muttered, and briskly walked off. Kil’jaeden folded his arms.

_‘I do not like this one bit.’_

Velen meanwhile was as pleased as could be, having just imparted a small amount of his wisdom unto a willing, energetic student. Aeterna’s intelligence and steady focus reminded him of Kil’jaeden, who he loved and respected dearly. He could sense some discomfort from his friend’s mind and attempted to contact Kil’jaeden, nudging at him. Kil’jaeden answered in a crisp tone.

_‘ **Yes?** ’_

_‘Brother, are you well?’_

_‘ **I am.** ’_

Velen frowned a little, turning his head in the direction Kil’jaeden could be sensed as if his friend was right beside him.

_‘Something does not seem right… Are you sure?’_

**_‘Yes, yes. Now, if there’s nothing I can do for you, I must get back to my papers. These studies don’t write themselves.’_ **

_‘Oh… of course. Light bless you, you work ever so hard. I will check on you later, okay?’_

Kil’jaeden did not respond, but Velen felt him retreat. The conversation having ended, Velen snuggled up with a cushion for comfort. He could wonder endless things while laying on this couch, but his usual peace would not come as he worried about Kil’jaeden. Anxious, he sat up and rifled through the cluttered endtable nearby for some astral bloom.

 _‘I’ll just have a little peek, consider what might happen to him.’_ Velen found a single petal and his mood worsened. _‘Oh, no… that’s not enough! Curse it, I’ll go pick some. This is for Kil’jaeden, I can’t let his fate be unknown.’_ With haste he exited the room, leaving familiar comforts behind to seek the only thing that would ease his mind. But the more visions he had, some unrelated, some incomprehensible, the more frustrated he grew. His determination increased to see that _one_ future that would make everything alright, that would calm his anxiety supposedly forever even though he knew it would not last. _‘I just need this for now.’_ he told himself. _‘One look and I’ll see what I can make of it. Light, grant me your strength. Show me the way.’_

Kil’jaeden found him the next morning in a misty field, surrounded by crushed stems and large, flat leaves. Some crude tools had been fashioned out of a generic bowl and random rock, bothering Kil’jaeden quite a bit.

 _‘Yeeurgh. That’s not sanitary.’_ He knelt, waving his hand in front of Velen’s face. Velen sat cross-legged on the grass, his entire body still. The fact that he touched the ground signaled his concentration had peaked long ago, and he was now dragging up visions in desperation for the perfect one. Kil’jaeden shook his friend by the shoulders. Velen’s white eyes were rolled back into his head, unmoving.

“Velen. Wake up.” Kil’jaeden shook harder, then sat right in Velen’s lap, knocking on the closed door of his mind. As he punched his way through protective wards – fifteen hours old, he noted, Velen had been at this for far too long – he caught glimpses of the visions. They were muddied, like an exhausted soldier’s last glances at the sky through dirt-caked eyes. Velen’s energy was all but spent, and his mind was failing even as he convinced himself it wasn’t. Horrified, Kil’jaeden tugged at Velen’s essence and tried to pull him out.

“No…” came a weak voice, the soldier’s hand grasping out as the sky darkened. “Not yet…”

“Come on!” Kil’jaeden pulled harder, careful not to snap the thread holding Velen’s mind and body together. It was ever so weak, and if left like this Velen could be lost in endless visions for eternity. But if it snapped, he would fall to madness, senility or an early grave. Kil’jaeden slowly drew Velen out and the vision faded in seconds. With a gasp Velen awoke, the purple gleam of his irises frightfully dim. Darkness ringed his eyes and his lips were dry, cheeks gaunt. His tendrils hung limply from his face and Kil’jaeden massaged them by the sides of his jaw. That woke Velen up quite a bit with a jolt of arousal, and he squirmed.

“Nnh… K..Kil’jaeden…?”

“Thank the Light.” Kil’jaeden pulled Velen into a crushing hug, squeezing the frail Eredar with all the might of his unconditional love. Velen actually had to heal himself after, but only slightly as he didn’t want to offend Kil’jaeden. He also barely had the energy to _breathe_.

“What… where am I?”

“Take a guess.” Kil’jaeden gestured to the fields of astral bloom, then didn’t even give Velen the chance to look as he stood up, blocking his view. He pulled Velen to his feet and lifted him, carrying him in a bridal position. Velen reached out for the tools he’d left but Kil’jaeden sternly reprimanded him.

“No.”

“But…”

“You’ve had _enough_ , brother. We’re going home.”

Velen wasn’t in any mood to argue and so he rested his head against Kil’jaeden’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as even steps rocked him to sleep. He was already snoozing by the time they got home, and Archimonde was doing his laps as usual.

“Oh, hey.” Archimonde saluted Kil’jaeden. “You found him.”

“Naturally.” Kil’jaeden gave Archimonde a _look_. “You’re covered in sweat. Go and bathe before you have breakfast.”

“Too damn early for that. Bring me some sausages or something.”

Kil’jaeden rolled his eyes. _‘You two will be the death of me…’_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHOLESOME CHAPTER :D

Kil’jaeden sat in the room adjacent to his private terrace, listening to the rain patter down on the roof. A bluish-grey mist had rolled across Mac’Aree, carrying with it the suggestion that everyone should stay inside. Argus was prone to arcane storms when the weather was like this, and Kil’jaeden thought it the perfect time to read up on the phenomenon. Perhaps there was something he could do to lessen the weather’s impact on his planet, or maybe it was unnecessary to disturb the natural order of things. As he considered, he sipped at some sweet tea one of the guards had brought him. They were always hanging around, eager to serve… especially the few he considered acquaintances. Around this time of year people tended to be just a bit nicer to Kil’jaeden even when he was in his pissy moods, and he knew why.

 _Tarkath_. Loosely translated as the ‘ _Encouragement of birth’_ , Tarkath was a time just before Summer’s end when all Eredar experienced biological changes. They were a people known for being conservative with their affections, save for the occurrence once a year when just about everyone went mad with lust. Men, women and everyone in between could barely help themselves, the Triumvirate’s lofty leaders included. Kil’jaeden was a favourite among those at the Seat, known for hosting week-long celebrations during Tarkath where his friends could get naked and relieve their frustrations with him. Rather than lusting after others, Kil’jaeden found himself receptive to a good ass pounding or twenty. He was strong enough to withstand any and all affections bestowed upon him, physical, mental or otherwise. Velen usually healed him up at the end of it all, for the Prophet spent Tarkath in hiding, and nobody could find him or his enigmatic dangly bits. Kil’jaeden missed him dearly during these times but respected him enough to not hunt him down like a piece of meat.

Then there was Archimonde, who knew he wouldn’t be able to keep himself away from Kil’jaeden when the season came around. In past years he’d tried chastity belts, medications, and just plain tying himself to his own bed, fantasising about being ravished until he broke the thing apart in carnal rage. This time, he was going to go straight into Kil’jaeden’s party parlour and get a piece of that ass. Whether Kil’jaeden liked it or not, he probably would not be able to refuse. Archimonde wasn’t as brilliant as the one he admired, but he did know how to use the body’s weaknesses against it. And this could be his only chance for the entire year.

The crystal windows rattled as fierce winds raced around outside. Kil’jaeden turned slightly, flipping a page of his book with an idle hand motion.

 _‘Hm. I hope nobody’s caught out there. The energy levels are rising…’_ He got up, peering out to see if there were any elementals about. The amalgamations of arcane energy wrought havoc on Mac’Aree’s buildings whenever they spawned, and it was in weather like this that they formed. Tiny dots of pink and white could be seen floating in the mist, and Kil’jaeden sighed. There would be plenty to clean up tomorrow. With a glance back to his book, he found his concentration fading and decided to leave it for another day. Finishing off his tea, he took his empty cup downstairs and ran right into Archimonde, who was doing upside-down pushups against the wall.

“You look like a fool.” Kil’jaeden said, and Archimonde flinched so hard he crashed to the floor. On his hooves in an instant, Archimonde shook his head violently.

“What’s your problem?” His face resembled an overripe fruit, how purple it was as all the blood had drained from his body to his head. Kil’jaeden gave him a light slap on the cheek, patting him back to his senses.

“Give it a rest. Your head’s going to explode if you keep exerting yourself like that.”

“Bah.” Archimonde rubbed the side of his face where Kil’jaeden had touched him, cheeks flushed. “And what about you, what have _you_ been doing on this dreadful day? Let me guess, reading, right?”

“Mhm.” Kil’jaeden smiled. “About a good bit of arcanodynamics and magically synthesized cryogenic modules to combat Argus’s rising temperatures. Oh, it’s fascinating!”

Archimonde gave him a blank look, then shook his head. “Fuck’s sake, what language are you speaking?”

“It’s simple, really.” Kil’jaeden grew ever more animated as he explained things Archimonde didn’t know half the words for, waving his hands about and demonstrating small-scale spell matrices in the air. Archimonde watched in a mixture of confusion and rapture. He’d never seen Kil’jaeden so excited about anything, usually because he left before Kil’jaeden could get into his explanations. While he understood nothing, he had to admire the radiant beauty of his friend’s face, the energy and passion in his body language. He folded his arms, nodding from time to time and hoping Kil’jaeden wouldn’t quiz him on this later. Kil’jaeden finished off with a pleased sigh, and looked happier than he’d ever been.

“Ahh, thank you for listening. I remember the finer details much better when I can explain them.”

“Fair enough.” Archimonde winked, and gave Kil’jaeden a friendly thump on the chest. “You want to put those icy skills into practice or would you like to be my next weightlifting target?”

“I’ll keep my spine in one piece, thanks.” Kil’jaeden laughed, and inclined his head to Archimonde, gazing upon him with fondness. Archimonde’s heart skipped a beat, a permanent blush now leading all the way to his ear tips. “I’ll see you around.” Kil’jaeden left, and Archimonde leaned against the wall, a hand to his chest. His pulse was racing even after he’d taken a break from his training, and watching Kil’jaeden saunter off with his tail swaying only increased it. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face, and he shifted from one hoof to the other. Such positive interaction was unusual for him, and he’d made legitimate progress in getting closer to his beloved Kil’jaeden.

_‘That… was perfect.’_


	7. Chapter 7

A few days later, Kil’jaeden had a moment to be idle and wondered how Velen was doing. As always, he reached out with gentle, curious tendrils of thought to touch his friend’s mind, but found Velen unusually closed. It seemed the Prophet was focussed on something so strongly that any interference would be cast aside. Kil’jaeden felt an odd brushoff to his request for contact, his questing fingers pushed away, back to his own mind. He frowned, taking a moment to contemplate before immediately trying again to see what Velen was up to. He was more careful this time, peering at the skin of Velen’s all-consuming focus. Many emotions flickered beneath the barrier, hope and anxiety dancing around each other as trails of prophecy buoyed them both. Kil’jaeden squinted, and suddenly there was pain, Velen turning the full strength of his searing attention upon him.

 _‘Yes, Kil’jaeden?’_ His inner voice was strained, holding back a serious admonishment Kil’jaeden could sense regardless. Unnerved, Kil’jaeden spoke softly.

 _‘What are you up to?’_ He’d delved with too much force, and had given Velen quite a headache. _‘I’m… sorry if I interrupted you…’_

 _‘I am busy. We can talk later.’_ Velen shut Kil’jaeden out once more, twice as guarded and beyond his friend’s reach. Kil’jaeden sat back, bewildered.

 _‘What…?’_ He twirled a tendril around one finger, fidgeting despite the stimulation hurting him. _‘What is he so busy with that he doesn’t have a minute for me?’_ Kil’jaeden thought over every possibility – there weren’t any visions going on, so he had to be doing something in the physical world like scribing documents or healing someone. Yes, maybe that was it. Velen was healing someone in need, of course he didn’t have time for Kil’jaeden.

A voice spoke to him then. _‘ **You don’t really believe that, do you?** ’_

 _‘Well, I don’t have any evidence. Hard to believe in something based on assumptions.’_ Kil’jaeden folded his thick arms. At least he had his conscience to talk to, he thought bitterly.

**‘ _Just go and see what he’s doing. It’s better than sitting here, being eaten alive by your worries. Why are you so interested, anyway?’_**

_‘I want to be with him, you fucking idiot. Light, we’re the same damn person, you **know** how I feel about Velen.’_

**_‘Yeah, but you’re supposed to be smarter than that, self-preservation and all. You think he’s doing something totally different, don’t you? Ohh, I know. There it is.’_ **

Something dark and squirmy bubbled up from his subconscious, and there Kil’jaeden gazed upon it in horror.

_-I BET HE’S WITH THAT VINDICATOR AGAIN.-_

**_‘Huh, would you look at that.’_ **

_‘Shut it! I don’t care about her-’_

**_‘But Velen does.’_ **

_‘We don’t know that!’_

His conscience looked at him for a moment, somehow judgemental without any eyes or actual physical form. Kil’jaeden cringed.

**_‘You’re deluding yourself. Face it, he likes her, and she likes him.’_ **

_‘We… don’t… know!’_

**_‘Then go find out, geez! Who’s the idiot now?’_ **

Kil’jaeden ran his hands back through his hair quickly, smoothing most of it behind his ears. His mood had quickly gone south, entire body so tense his nerves were pinging every pain receptor in his brain at once. In an attempt to relax he stretched his arms above his body, or would have had his imminent vulnerability not stopped him. He folded his arms again, over his chest.

_‘Damn it.’_

 

Velen was indeed with Aeterna, in a private lounge of sorts with a lightspawned elemental guarding the door. She was gazing at him, soft curls of dark hair falling over one eye as she tilted her head to the left. She was patient as Velen recollected himself from the momentary intrusion. His eyes came back into focus and he met her gaze, a gentle smile curving his lips up.

“Forgive me, Aeterna. I was… needed elsewhere, but I am here for you now.”

Aeterna’s cheeks flushed purple, and she batted her eyelashes at Velen coyly.

“If you have business to attend to, we could speak another time…”

“You are my business, sweet one. Please, let us continue.”

Folding her hands in her lap, Aeterna spoke as her tail twitched about with excitement. It had taken her several days to muster the courage and words for this moment, and now all would come to light.

“I wish to accompany you during Tarkath, if you would so kindly honor me with your presence.”

Velen nearly had a stroke, and gasped. “T…Tarkath?” He fidgeted with his hands, tail lashing a nearby cushion. “Oh, I’d… forgotten it was so soon! I, ahm…” Aeterna was staring at him intently, and compelled to answer, his voice sounded so _small_. “I don’t usually do anything for Tarkath...”

Aeterna shifted and sat beside Velen, gently stroking the base of his tail to calm him. It only made him more sensitive and he stared at her in shock, stomach churning with wild emotions.

“We do not have to.” Aeterna said softly, resting her face in Velen’s shoulder. The scent of astral bloom and musky sweetness relaxed her racing heart, her tense grin falling into a more sensuous pout. “I just wish to keep you company.”

“You will fall prey to natural urges, Aeterna.” Velen muttered, trying to calm himself. “As may I, which is why meditative solitude is often best.”

“Is there anything so wrong with that?” Aeterna began to gently comb her fingers through Velen’s beard, adoring the fluffy texture. “It is only natural. Why deny yourself?”

“It is embarrassing, what it does to me.” Velen admitted, leaning into Aeterna’s touch. His tendrils drifted towards her, and she caressed them too.

“Do not worry. I will never shame you for who you are.” said Aeterna, shifting her head to place a kiss at the base of Velen’s jaw. He shivered, a soft, senseless murmur falling from his lips.

“Ooh…” At this point, his mental barriers were falling away and his hope shone brightly, golden light enveloping his body and spreading peace to Aeterna, an everlasting serenity. She bathed in it, shifting to sit in his lap and he guided her well, embracing her around the waist. Perhaps he was more attuned to the seasonal changes than most. Aeterna encouraged it, leaning in to brush her nose against his, her delicate crest contacting his tall, majestic ridges. Though slight in form he definitely had the mark of Eredar masculinity upon him, and Aeterna found herself wondering if he was this impressive elsewhere. Pressing herself against him, she nuzzled his cheek gently.

“Velen…”

“I will.” said Velen, his lips barely moving. “You and I, on Tarkath. We may… be together, yes.”

Outside the door, Kil’jaeden was screaming internally.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my hand slipped

As the days passed, Archimonde noticed Kil’jaeden seeming very far away in their conversations. He contributed little to the Council meetings with either a distant look on his face or a deeply contemplative one, often silent when his wisdom would benefit many. Archimonde took it upon himself to find out what was wrong, for he so despised the sadness in Kil’jaeden’s deep golden eyes.

“Hey.” He approached Kil’jaeden one afternoon as they were leaving the Conservatory, a day’s worth of lectures and demonstrations finally over. “Kil’jaeden.”

Kil’jaeden’s silvery-blue hair fluttered about his face and he didn’t even flinch, staring down at the amber grasses of Mac’Aree. Archimonde shook him by the shoulder.

“Bro. You alright?”

“Mm.” Kil’jaeden only grunted softly and walked forwards, his hooves clicking across the stone paving in an automatic rhythm.

 _‘He’s not paying attention.’_ Archimonde grit his teeth, summoning up a few purple balls of blistering energy to lob at the back of his friend’s head. They hit Kil’jaeden’s deflective shield in bright pink bursts, dissipating into nothingness. Kil’jaeden turned around.

“What’s been going on?” asked Archimonde, lowering his hands just before Kil’jaeden channeled an arcane beam right into his face. It tickled like a mass of feathers and light, hot rain, nothing too painful but foreign to his nerves. Lethal force was being withheld.

“You take that and leave me alone.” Kil’jaeden turned swiftly and started off at an increased pace, but Archimonde launched himself into Kil’jaeden’s back, tackling him to the ground. Kil’jaeden flipped over at once and shoved Archimonde as hard as he could, aghast.

“What are you _doing_? We are in public, you fool!”

“Don’t care.” Rubbing at his chest to see if any bones were broken, Archimonde winced. “Fucking hell, you hit hard.”

Kil’jaeden stood up, brushing his long robes off. “Of course I do.”

“Look. You haven’t been yourself lately, and I’ll be damned if you’re hiding things from me. Whatever it is, it’s hurting you.” Archimonde stood too and tried his best to look serious, but only managed to seem pissed off.

Kil’jaeden sniffed in derision, as if Archimonde had just taken a huge shit on the floor.

“Hmph. You know nothing of what I feel, and it is best kept that way.”

Suddenly a flush of anger coloured Archimonde’s cheeks and he growled, tail sticking up.

“You think I’m stupid? That I can’t see what’s going on? You’ve got a bigass problem you can’t solve yourself, that’s why you just sit around thinking all day. You can’t do everything yourself, why won’t you let me help you?”

“You can’t help me.” said Kil’jaeden. A few onlookers had gathered, discreetly listening in while pretending to mind their own business. “…You are nowhere near objective enough.”

“Objective?!” Archimonde glowered at him, lips pulling back to reveal his sharp teeth. “Ghhrrrr, try me!”

“You are far too emotional.” Kil’jaeden murmured with a hand to his leftmost tendril, stroking it gently. “Anything I tell you will be filtered through that twisted lens of determination and… what, anger? Annoyance?” He scowled. “I do not understand you, Archimonde. What you want, why you do what you do…” It pained him to admit this, in public nonetheless.

“I only want the best for you, _brother.”_ Archimonde was spitting his words out now, his mind screaming _‘Why won’t you accept me? Why am I not good enough to help you? You haven’t even let me try. What’s wrong with **me**?’_

Beckoning with a rough gesture, Kil’jaeden turned to start walking towards the Seat of the Triumvirate.

“We can discuss this in private, or not.” He left. Archimonde chased after him, falling into step with his tail lashing in agitation.

“Fuck’s sake.” Archimonde muttered under his breath. “You use big words yet you act like a child.”

Kil’jaeden waited until they were on the Seat’s marble steps with no witnesses around before raising his hand and giving Archimonde a hard smack across the face. Archimonde nearly went flying and had to cast a spell of slowfall to stay in place, staggering backwards. His cheeks nearly black from the rush of blood, he stared at Kil’jaeden. The taller Eredar glowered down at him from above, chin raised and something akin to hatred in his eyes.

“I need someone gone.”

Archimonde blinked, processing the words. “…What, like an… assassination?”

Kil’jaeden’s hesitation came through their connection loud and clear, morals conflicting with the rawest desire of his heart. Though Archimonde couldn’t read it, he knew it was there, and the magnitude of how serious Kil’jaeden was about this dawned on him.

“Yes,” said Kil’jaeden. “An assassination.”

Archimonde’s eyes flicked left and right, then he looked behind him. “We… by the Light, we can’t talk about this!”

Kil’jaeden’s lips curled into a scornful sneer. “I thought you wanted to help me.”

“You’re talking about _killing_ someone, bro. You ever done that before?”

“You have.” Kil’jaeden grinned, and it was a menacing, terrifying thing. How happy he looked, how malicious little lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes…  “And you have the head to show for it.”

“You found someone dabbling in Fel magic? Why not a public execution?” Archimonde couldn’t fathom where this was going at all, and legitimately regretted asking. _‘Void damn, this is what I get for sticking my nose into Kil’jaeden’s business. I’d rather have it up his tail, to be honest- NOW IS NOT THE TIME!!!’_ He could do with another slap, but his friend would not grant him one out of nowhere. Kil’jaeden ascended the steps, his tail swishing in an infinite loop. Around and around it coiled, like a snake Archimonde couldn’t take his eyes off lest he get an eyeful of venom.

“There is no magic involved, only social skills, something neither of us truly lack.” Kil’jaeden folded his hands behind his back and Archimionde was struck by how elegant he looked, as regal as an ancient King. “If you wish to truly help me, then you will remove this blight on my existence with your own two hands.” At the top of the steps he paused, turning and placing one hoof down with a resolute _clack_. “I will give you anything you wish in return.”

Archimonde’s mouth fell open, millions of possibilities squirming around in his head. His scalp tingled, like his skull was full of maggots gnawing at the inside of his skull. Adrenaline surged through his neck, his shoulders, down his arms and into his fingertips which he rubbed together to discharge the energy. Anything at all… and Kil’jaeden did not speak falsely.

“I’ll do it.” Archimonde made a snap decision as if Kil’jaeden willed it, and the grinning Eredar put a hand on his shoulder.

“Good.”

 

Archimonde was still reeling from the praise an hour later, having a nice wank as the season and his body commanded.

 _‘Anything at all…’_ he thought, Kil’jaeden’s face smiling in his mind. _‘We could get married… Yeah, that would be fantastic! I’d get to hug him every day, and we could fuck against the walls, I’d look at his beautiful face when I sleep and wake up… Mmmm...’_ He ran his thick fingers along his taut abdominal muscles, one hand working at his length at an even pace. Archimonde could just picture it, Kil’jaeden in white-gold ceremonial robes, undoing the clasps at the front and revealing his lovely light-blue skin…

“Kil’jaeden…” he whispered, tossing his head to one side and closing his eyes. _‘I’ll have you soon.’_

 

Kil’jaeden, meanwhile, was sitting in his private chambers, alone. He was atop his bed with legs crossed and tail in his lap, while his nimble fingers fiddled with the gold band at the tip. Every second thought in his mind was doubt. Could he really kill an innocent person? A woman at that, someone who was destined to bring new life to their aging society? What would happen if Velen had a son, a wife, a family? He would forget about Kil’jaeden, his very best friend, and the thought made Kil’jaeden’s chest squeeze. A sickness roiled in his stomach, and dimly he realized he had not eaten for a few hours. But it mattered little. His body now seemed to be trying to purge his worries out, tightening his throat and pounding in his head.

 _‘He won’t forget me.’_ He tried to rationalize. _‘He can’t. We’ve known each other for millenia.’_ His breathing trembled, an open-mouthed sigh crawling out of him like a crippled insect. _‘I… I won’t let him. He can’t throw away all we’ve built and shared for someone he barely knows. Oh, why did they have to meet so close to Tarkath? That… that girl is manipulating him, based on the well-known weaknesses of our bodies!’_ Kil’jaeden gasped, tears coming unbidden to his eyes. _‘How **dare** she? I’ll kill her. I’ll rip her fucking heart out and burn it to cinders, I… I…’_ He wrapped his arms around himself, tail shivering the moment he let it go.

 _‘I can’t. This isn’t me, I can’t kill her, she’s done nothing wrong…! But…’_ A vision came to him (not a prophecy, but a sight born in fear) of Velen and Aeterna sitting together, her slim fingers coiled around his tendrils, his fine figure bared, her round buttocks in his lap and the most gratifying smirk on her face…

Kil’jaeden dug his nails into the flesh of his upper arms, thin purple lines rising along his skin.

_‘No. No. You can’t have him. He’s mine. My own guiding Light. I’m lost without him. Velen, you can’t. You…’_

He lowered his head, taking a huge breath in. When had he stopped breathing? Why was he sobbing now, huge wet tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping from the tip of his nose? Why did he have to _feel_?

 

~

 

The next day, Kil’jaeden sat sullenly at breakfast with dark rings around his eyes. He’d been up all night desperately trying to puzzle out the _right_ thing to do, while at the same time minimizing the emotional cost to his own fragile heart. No solutions had come, and he hated himself for being unable to balance his emotions enough. How could he choose what was objectively best when his soul was raw, pining for Velen on one side while the other was consumed in fear of losing him? He could not make a choice, not like this. But a frightening rationalization had been tickling him all night – it had been there all week.

_If someone else does it, my hands are clean. It is their decision to obey my command._

As he chewed on a piece of bread with butter and sugar on it, a high-pitched voice caught his attention. The soothing, deeper one that came after it made his heart sink. Velen and Aeterna were giggling about something together, Velen bestowing casual touches upon her in an overly friendly manner. Kil’jaeden looked away, stuffing the rest of his bread into his mouth with a scowl.

“Ghmph. You, get me some coffee.” He growled at Netrezaar, who gave a sharp salute and went off to do his beloved Lord’s bidding.

Elsewhere in the room, Restalaan and a priest with unusually curly hair observed Kil’jaeden.

“Goodness…” Makios kept his voice low, his gaze flicking about. “He seems quite upset about something.”

“Of course.” said Restalaan. “He has a lot to look after, you know.” He picked up a sausage and wiggled it at Makios. “And of course, it is the season. Hard to think straight when you have a spear in your pocket.”

“A-a what?” Blushing from ear to ear, Makios squirmed in his seat. “That… oh, Light. Why did you have to remind me? Now the image of…” He whispered. “Lord Kil’jaeden’s _spear_ …”

Restalaan paused and then slowly began to flush purple, biting the tip of the sausage in an attempt to clear his mind. “Hmmmmmm…”

A loud _clink_ drew Kil’jaeden out of his murderous thoughts. Archimonde had set down a coffee mug full of strong liquor right next to him, and he gave Kil’jaeden a firm pat on the back. Wordlessly Kil’jaeden looked to him then drank it, not breaking eye contact as he drained the sweet mana-infused drink. Almost immediately he felt like removing his entire digestive system. Archimonde wandered off to the buffet, a sway to his hips. Kil’jaeden looked down into his empty mug, at the congealed arcane substance at the bottom.

 _‘That’d probably kill me if I drank it.’_ he thought.

**_‘Drink it.’_ **

For once Kil’jaeden’s conscience truly frightened him and he squinted, eyes darting about.

_‘Where… where did that come from?’_

**_‘Drink it. All your problems will go away.’_ **

He tilted the mug, watching the shimmering sludge ooze towards him. On impulse he raised it to his lips and gulped down the admittedly foul concentrate. Moving his eyes caused every single object in the room to produce fading trails in multiples of four.

_‘Oh, fuck.’_

Archimonde was on the hunt. He knew Kil’jaeden loved a few particular pastries, the most expensive and fancy ones available in Mac’Aree. As he’d woken late there were almost none left and Archimonde locked eyes on the last one sitting nicely in a plate. Vindicator Heradus was going for it and Archimonde smacked his hand like an overprotective parent. Heradus looked at him, bewildered, as Archimonde nicked the pastry and delivered it to Kil’jaeden. He slid into the seat beside his friend, completely ignoring Netrezaar’s whine of protest.

Kil’jaeden turned his head, heavy eyelids quivering as he tried to keep them up.

“Good morning~” Archimonde chirped, lifting the pastry before Kil’jaeden’s lips. “Open.”

“Mnh…?” Kil’jaeden went to say something but received a mouth full of buttery smooth goodness, icing sugar and chocolate cream melting on his tongue. His head bobbed forwards as if he could not keep it up, and he ate what he was given. Archimonde looked just about to bust a nut, the biggest smile on his face as he attended to Kil’jaeden.

“Oh, my.” Makios nudged Restalaan insistently. “Look. They sure are friendly nowadays, aren’t they?”

Restalaan didn’t reply, and seemed to be busy doing something under the table. Makios glanced at him and then figured it was best to keep his eyes, and faith, up.

Kil’jaeden groaned softly. What was Archimonde doing, feeding him like this? He was perfectly capable of looking after himself, even though at present he actually had to concentrate in order to _breathe_. Archimonde’s free hand he realized was stroking his tail, feeling up and down the thick midsection ever so gently. A quiet sound of pleasure escaped him – damn it, he was sensitive – and he raised his tail up high. Archimonde’s hand motions couldn’t really be seen that well, and it looked like he was holding Kil’jaeden around the waist in a brotherly embrace. He slipped three fingers under Kil’jaeden’s tail and stuffed the rest of the pastry in his friend’s mouth to suppress any exclamations. Kil’jaeden closed his eyes, breathing out through his nose. _Light_ , that felt good. He parted his thighs, hard as anything under his robes, and Archimonde could probably smell his arousal being this close to him.

Archimonde sniffed, leaning to press his nose into Kil’jaeden’s neck for just a moment. He lingered.

_‘Unbelievable… he’s… oh, this is perfect.’_

Kil’jaeden had a delicate, restrained musk about him, the kind one had when morning showers and practiced chastity were commonplace. Archimionde meanwhile had a good bit of horny stank around when the mood was right, and it was more intimate than offensive at this time of year. Kil’jaeden was inclined towards it, his submissive nature in such matters locking tight with Archimonde’s more dominative, forceful hold.

 _‘Damn.’_ Archimonde thought to himself. _‘I should really get him to drink more often.’_

Kil’jaeden was hardly aware of his loss of inhibitions, the room reduced to a blur of colours and shapes. A lightness in his chest brought much-needed relief, while a sated heaviness in his stomach kept him grounded, made him feel _cared for_ , in a way. He pushed his face into Archimonde’s shoulder and moaned something incoherently, just as Netrezaar tapped him on the arm.

“Get a room, won’t you?”

Archimonde stood up, carrying a much delayed Kil’jaeden in his strong arms.

“On it.” He exited the room and went straight upstairs, to Kil’jaeden’s chambers. Archimonde set him down in bed and just before he picked apart his friend’s clothes, a pang of guilt twisted in his heart.

_‘I… I shouldn’t do this. It’s not right. But when will I have another chance? He’s hung up on Velen and his new girlfriend, and will probably hang himself once they really get together.’_

**_‘Just do it. He won’t remember.’_ **

_‘But I will!’_

**_‘There are drinks for guilt and memories for fun. You know how it goes.’_ **

Archimonde narrowed his eyes, a helpless Kil’jaeden staring bleary-eyed up at him.

_‘I do.’_


	9. Chapter 9

Late that evening, Kil’jaeden woke with a splitting headache and sickness deep in his stomach. Opening his eyes, he found himself curled around a long purple pillow (the exact shade of Velen’s skin) in his own comfy bed. The last thing he remembered was going down to eat breakfast, and something about being upset…

_‘Ah. I’ve been drinking. Probably Archimonde’s fault.’_

**_‘Oh, well. At least he’s looking out for you.’_ **

Kil’jaeden raised his head, wincing at the painful pulses within.

“Guhh…” His mouth felt dry, and his lips tingled with remnants of arcane energy. His tongue darted out to taste the essence. Magical liquor, then. One Kil’jaeden hadn’t tasted before. He tried again to sit up properly and managed, head hung low and hooves tangled in the clean white sheets. He didn’t remember changing them, and they had no scent at all, something he was hyper aware of during this particular season. Breathing in through his nose, he suddenly coughed. Now his ribs ached, like he’d been thrown around by a Vigilant for treading on private property. His tendrils brushed against delicate blue skin, and it was then that a mild discomfort came upon him. Dark purple bruises painted his thick pectoral muscles, flushed the corners of his hipbones and shaped in long streaks along his thighs. He looked down, head spinning, to see a slight shimmer around his body. Someone had cast a spell on him, be it for harm or good. Things were unusually clean around here, as if someone had put Kil’jaeden to bed and then cast a mass scrubbing all around.

But Kil’jaeden did not feel as pure as the Light intended. When he sat, there was a loose feeling in his anus that wasn’t pleasurable at all. Though he was in the first days of Tarkath, knowing he could lose track of time in a sea of endless debauchery, Kil’jaeden would have remembered the circumstances under which he took his seasonal lovers. To have no recollection at all… worried him. He winced as his tail naturally moved aside to avoid a little too much pressure from his weight. Leaning like this, the underside of his tail stung as if scraped raw. His conscience remained suspiciously quiet, despite the developing pieces of thought popping into Kil’jaeden’s headspace.

 _‘…I’m sure it’s nothing.’_ He glanced about, all windows shut and curtains drawn. _‘…It hurts. Ugh. What time is it?’_ Kil’jaeden could barely remember what work he had to do, and eased himself into the pillows. Almost immediately he sat back up, face creased in agony. _‘I can’t go back to sleep. There’s got to be something important to do. Light, I’ve wasted the whole day!’_ As he got out of bed, his stomach lurched and he doubled over, gritting his teeth.

**_‘Oh… bad idea.’_ **

He staggered to the bathroom, joined to his bedroom with a warded door for privacy’s sake. His hooves slid on the tiles and he grabbed the edges of the crystalline sink, staring up at his face. The sight nearly gave him a heart attack, and he recoiled. His skin had paled to resemble albinism and death combined, eyes sunken and hair a complete mess. His tendrils hung from his face like four drowned snakes, the rings that usually adorned them nowhere to be seen. He could feel the one on his tail missing too, and looked behind him. The muscles at the base of his tail struggled to lift it, sore and exhausted. Just _what_ had he been doing to ruin his body so?

His mind kicked into high gear, as it did when subconscious anxiety screamed its way to the surface. His jewelry was gone. Had he been robbed? Not in his own home, at the Seat of the Triumvirate, no. It was possible, but so unlikely he immediately discarded the thought for later pondering. Had he drank something intended to throw his mind out of sorts, then fought under the influence of both alcohol and magic? Had he lost terribly and as a result surrendered his belongings? No, that was unheard of in any of the Eredar’s history of social conflicts. Besides, who would dare? He was Kil’jaeden, a genius among a race of geniuses. He could figure this out.

His ass had begun to pain him after the short journey from bed to sink, and taking a deep breath in he held onto his tail by the midsection. He lifted it and glanced back, staring for a long while. Bruises streaked his buttocks, the kind only rough fingers could make. Kil’jaeden continued to stare, his conscience waiting on him to come to a conclusion. After minutes, it prodded him.

**_‘Seems like someone had a go at your ass while you were asleep.’_ **

He let go of his tail, quickly turning back to the sink and toggling the faucet on. _‘Preposterous. None would dare.’_ He splashed his face with a bit of water, rubbing as if aware, on some deep level, that he had been defiled. _‘There isn’t a person on Argus with enough disrespect for me to…”_

**_‘It’s not about disrespect, you fool. It’s about desire.’_ **

Kil’jaeden shook his head and instantly regretted it, pressing a hand to his crest with eyes squeezed shut.

_‘No… can’t be. There’s no way. Who would, anyway?’_

**_‘It’s not that hard. Give you something to drink while you’re too distracted to detect what’s in it. Stick you in your room. Have a good go at your vulnerable little body.’_ **

_‘Shut up! There’s no evi…evidence… for…’_ Kil’jaeden had begun to shake, water draining away as he stared into the sink, horrified. The only one who could convince him to drink in the fucking _morning_ was Archimonde. The same Archimonde who supposedly loved him, or some shit according to Velen.

Kil’jaeden put two and two together. And he screamed.

 

Velen came running thirty seconds later, hammering away at the door with the tip of his staff.

“Kil’jaeden! What is it?” Their connection was so unstable that he had to use his voice, and feared for his friend’s mind. The door was unwarded, and Velen hadn’t been expecting for it to just swing open the moment his staff made contact. He speed-levitated into the bathroom and found Kil’jaeden clawing at his thighs, adding more and more marks to the already ruined flesh.

“Brother, what are you _doing_?” Velen shifted back as Kil’jaeden turned to him, weeping openly. He’d never seen him like this, and it frightened him.

“Velen,” Kil’jaeden’s voice was heavy, desperate. “Heal me. Please. Make this…” He gestured around himself. “All of this… go away.”

Velen touched down on the tiles, holding onto his staff tight while reaching out with his free hand towards Kil’jaeden. Touching his friend’s forehead, he sensed a mix of terror, confusion and disbelief. Kil’jaeden was so overwhelmed he could do little more than struggle, breathing thin and fast.

Velen focussed his energies through his staff, body and then hand, channeling a prayer of healing to try and comfort Kil’jaeden. His power increased, golden light beaming out of his eyes and filling the room. It glanced off the tiles, surrounded their bodies, and Velen’s confidence only augmented its restorative strength. Broken blood vessels beneath tainted skin grew whole again, and Kil’jaeden was healed from the inside out. His mind, however, was only calmed when Velen forcefully channeled meditative energies into him, having a comatose effect rather than the intended gentle peace. Kil’jaeden could not have the peace Velen wanted, not when his mind was like this. So the Prophet did what he could to suck the negativity out and put his friend back to bed, resting beside him until morning came.

 

At dawn, Kil’jaeden opened his eyes to see darkness, yet he was warm beneath the covers with someone beside him. Velen slept with his hands nested in his beard, legs pulled up and utter serenity on his face. Kil’jaeden felt around, patting at Velen’s shoulder and then realizing just who was in bed with him. He shut his eyes, breathing slow and steady.

_‘Is it… really him? Yes, I wouldn’t mistake his presence anywhere. Velen… my beloved Velen has chosen to… sleep with me. He healed me last night, after…’_

**_‘No, don’t think about that. It’s not important. You still have a few hours to rest. Relax.’_ **

Kil’jaeden listened to his conscience for once, shifting to embrace Velen with an arm over his slender waist. He held him close, pressing his face in that glorious, fluffy beard. Mana rays outside chirped as the sun rose higher in the sky, and Kil’jaeden was soothed by the feeling that this was _right_. Velen in his arms, a perfect temperature, the world at peace…

But it was not to last.

 

That morning, he found a large crowd (some twenty high-profile Eredar) standing around the council room, awaiting his arrival. Leading them was Netrezaar, an embarrassed looking High Wakener Aargon behind him. He seemed to be trying to hide as Netrezaar opened his arms wide, a sickening, false smile on his face.

“Lord Kil’jaeden!” He glanced to the right. “And Prophet Velen, too.” His attention went straight back to Kil’jaeden, Velen tilting his head to the side with a curious look. “Have you made preparations for the week’s events?”

Kil’jaeden blinked. “What?”

Netrezaar’s smile faded into a scowl. Some people in the crowd shifted about, and Aargon started looking nervous.

“Tarkath. You haven’t forgottten your duties as host, have you?”

Kil’jaeden remembered his yearly orgies and almost immediately squeezed his legs together, tail curling inwards.

“I won’t be doing that this year.” he said curtly, moving to the nearest food repository. As he levitated bits of bread, meat and cheese into a sandwich, he heard Netrezaar scoff in disbelief.

“What? You’re going to break our centuries-long tradition-”

Kil’jaeden turned abruptly and clenched his hand into a fist, his sandwich turning into an amalgamation of nutritious but volatile energy.

“I will do as I damn well please without you degenerates coercing me into submission.”

“A-Ah, we’re just…” Aargon stuttered, such a strange sound coming from him that it gave Kil’jaeden pause. Now with the majestic Eredar’s attention, Aargon composed himself. “We are… lost without your guidance.”

“It is not hard to stick a hand in your robes, High Wakener. You should have plenty of Vigilants willing to do the job.”

“Oh, my.” Velen put a hand to his mouth, blushing. Some of the people chuckled at that, but Netrezaar was not amused. He pointed straight at Kil’jaeden, who was making himself a mana steak sandwich now using his accumulated energy.

“You’ve got to give us a reason.”

“No I don’t.” said Kil’jaeden, taking a bite out of his sandwich and leaning against the table, pushing it slightly against the wall. Netrezaar heard a creak and stood where he was, starting to roast Kil’jaeden while knowing fully well that he could be reduced to ashes in a blink.

“I bet you’re insecure about something. What, have you gotten a bit fat in the fast few months eating your worries away? What do _you_ even **_have_** to worry about?”

Kil’jaeden paused mid-chew and slowly narrowed his eyes. Velen stepped forth, glaring at Netrezaar (and managing to look like a very peeved cat.)

“Netrezaar, that was uncalled for. What is the issue here? I’m sure you can find somewhere else to spend the week.”

“And them?” Netrezaar gestured behind him at the crowd, who were really just there to watch the drama unfold. “Where will they go?”

“Mac’Aree is home to many fine suitors.” said Velen sagely. “There is someone for everyone.”

“But we don’t want anyone.” Netrezaar growled. “We want _him_.”

Kil’jaeden resisted stuffing the delicious sandwich into his mouth with all his might, just so he could spit out a savage retort.

“Well I don’t want _you_.” With that, he tilted his chin up and exited the room. Velen gave Netrezaar a disappointed look and left too, stealing a donut from the table. Further down the hallway he caught up with Kil’jaeden, who was angrily munching with a smear of arcane energy on his cheek. There was pain in his eyes, and Velen felt it through their connection as clear as the Light in his own heart. He watched Velen float around to stand right in front of him, preventing his escape.

“Kil’jaeden…”

Kil’jaeden averted his gaze, turning his whole body away from Velen. Velen’s face was full of compassion as he reached out and touched Kil’jaeden’s face, wiping the wet mana from his cheek with a thumb.

“Ohh… please, do not worry about what Netrezaar said. He is confused and frustrated, and misspoke.” When Kil’jaeden didn’t reply, lips pursed, Velen’s fingertips glowed with soft light. He trailed his hands down to his friend’s waist and unsurprisingly, Kil’jaeden sucked in a breath. Velen simply pulled him into a gentle hug, waiting for Kil’jaeden to relax. The space between their bodies disappeared, and Velen delighted in the fact that Kil’jaeden actually had grown a bit soft.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, brother.” Velen murmured, looking straight into Kil’jaeden’s eyes. “You have always been beautiful.”

Kil’jaeden stopped drowning in his own doubts and peered at Velen, brows knitted together.

“Velen, do you love me?” he said abruptly. Velen blinked, confusion seeping into his kind visage.

“Of course I do! You are my most trusted friend, Kil’jaeden.” He smiled warmly and tapped Kil’jaeden’s crest with his own, the greeting they had long since shared in more intimate moments. Kil’jaeden’s eyes glistened, and his whole body was stiff. That wasn’t the response he’d wanted to hear.

“I have to go.” He pulled back, Velen’s arms falling to his sides empty yet still open.

“K-Kil’jaeden? Wait, what’s wrong?” He went to chase after him but Kil’jaeden teleported right out of there and Velen was left alone, wondering what he had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o shit lmao (i really wanted velen to feel up kj but it was too ooc)


	10. Chapter 10

Kil’jaeden found Archimonde outside, doing his usual laps around the Seat. As soon as Archimonde rounded a corner, Kil’jaeden pounced on him and they rolled around in the grass until Kil’jaeden ended up on top. Sitting on Archimonde’s chest, he snarled.

“You fucking bastard.”

“Oh, good morning to you too.” Archimonde grinned, only for Kil’jaeden to smack him across the face. “Ungh. Someone’s feisty.”

“What the hell did you do to me last night?”  
“Last night? Nothing.”

“The night before!”

“Ohh…” Archimonde tilted his head to the left, resting his cheek in the soft, dewy grass. “You didn’t enjoy it?”

“I can’t remember it!” Kil’jaeden grabbed both of Archimonde’s tentacles, tugging them so hard the pinned Eredar actually yelped in pain.

“Ow! Oi, don’t fuckin-” Kil’jaeden punched him in the face, breaking his nose with a _crack_. “GNNNEEEEH!”

“What. Did. You. DO?” Shaking Archimonde with all his strength, Kil’jaeden was desperate for answers. Archimonde put a hand over his nose, blood all over his face with little splinters of cartilage poking through his skin.

“N…nghh… W-wait a min..” He tried to get up but Kil’jaeden was so firmly sat upon his chest that he could do little more than struggle. “Fuck, you’re heavy.”

Kil’jaeden’s face went bright red, and he punched Archimonde again with an indignant cry.

“Asshole! You… you _used_ me!”

“Nnnnnh! Will you _stop_ hitting me? Light, I thought you had something between your fucking ears.” Archimonde covered his face with his forearms. “It’s _tarkath_ , lighten up.”

“Oh, I’ll light you up.” Kil’jaeden swore a rune of dreadful power right into Archimonde’s forehead, and the sigil sank into sweat-slick skin with a hiss. He’d cursed him with erectile dysfunction, and Archimonde actively felt his spontaneous boner die. “You’re fast outliving your uses, Archimonde.”

“Hey. Hey.” Archimonde squinted through the gap between his arms, eyes shining bright. “Look. I just took my reward, I’ll do the job. Kill whoever you want. Alright? Now pleeeeease get off me.”

Kil’jaeden stood, his hoof on Archimonde’s chest. Archimonde got a good look between his friend’s legs and whistled, only to have that hoof kick him in the chin. It was somewhat worth it.

“You perverted wretch. Listen closely, as I’ll only say this once.” Kil’jaeden glanced around then squatted, placing most of his weight on Archimonde’s chest. Archimonde held his breath.

“Vindicator Aeterna. I want her head.”

Archimonde raised his brows.

“You’re in no position to refuse, mind you. Betray me and I’ll skin you alive.” Kil’jaeden growled, a nasty edge to his voice. He stepped away and Archimonde got up, rubbing his chin with one hand and his chest with the other.

“Man, you sure know how to bring the hurt. I’ll bring her head to you, don’t you worry.”

“Now.”

Archimonde blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Right fucking now. Go and get her.” Kil’jaeden pointed to the Seat of the Triumvirate, its many arched tiers glittering in the midday light.

“Bro, I need time to plan.” Archimonde sat cross-legged in the grass, nursing his wounds. “And heal a bit. Damn, you could’ve just asked for a fight.”

“I don’t want a fight.” said Kil’jaeden. “I want either revenge or balance, and by the Light you will go and kill that bitch _right now_ or you’ll have a lot more broken bones.” He folded his arms, tapping at a thick biccep with one finger. “Not to mention your reputation. I can have you excommunicated from anything you’ll ever be a part of.”

Now _that_ scared Archimonde, and Kil’jaeden knew it. On his hooves, Archimonde gave his friend a shaky salute.

“As you wish.”

He jogged towards the Seat and Kil’jaeden went off towards Arinor Gardens, just below his own personal terrace. Astral blooms danced in the golden grass, seeming to watch him as he passed. Velen’s private residence was somewhere around here, but Kil’jaeden was going to just sit and stare at the outskirts of Mac’Aree from the garden’s edges. It was one of the few places he could find peace in – he and Velen used to come here and reflect, often falling asleep under the stars. Bitterly he reminisced, ignoring the various passersby who greeted him. He passed the Circle of Aspirants, morning Jed’hin matches taking place amongst friends and colleagues. Kil’jaeden knew most of the tutors, but didn’t spare a glance as he approached his destination.

Velen sat with Aeterna in a patch of flowers, his bare arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder. Kil’jaeden froze. Distant enough to escape detection (though Velen’s senses were another matter), several thoughts ran through his mind.

 _‘I could push her off the cliff. It’s a far drop into the Twisting Nether. Oh, but Velen would see, got to distract him first… Mm, magic. With the right network of portals and illusions I could…’_ He was so busy plotting Aeterna’s murder that he didn’t feel someone tapping at his shoulder until they pulled his tail. Kil’jaeden whirled around to see Vorusk, the Jed’hin champion he always bet on at the yearly tournaments, grinning at him.

“Hey, Kil’jaeden. Strange place to stand and stare at nothing, hm?”

Kil’jaeden lowered his eyelids, his voice a conspiratorial purr.

“I have my reasons. What do you want?”

“Is everything alright?” Vorusk’s soft blue skin mirrored Kil’jaeden’s own, the morning’s light bathing him in a gentle glow. “You don’t seem quite… there.”

“You see that?” Kil’jaeden gestured to where Velen and Aeterna were sitting. “We used to sit there, Velen and I.”

“Ohhh…” Understanding came upon Vorusk’s handsome face, and Kil’jaeden implored him to sympathize. “Yeah, I get you. It’s the season, after all. Even the Prophet has someone, eh?”

“Mh.” Kil’jaeden looked away.

“Hey.” Vorusk let his massive left hand rest on Kil’jaeden’s shoulder, his right coming up to playfully nudge a tendril. “You’re not alone now. How about you and me, mm? Won’t hurt.”

“No.” said Kil’jaeden abruptly. _‘Light, he’s only talking to me because he wants my cock. Fuck’s sake.’_ “Don’t you have novices to train?”

Vorusk got the hint, but much disliked Kil’jaeden’s dismissive tone. Still, he knew it was best not to overstep, and bowed.

“Of course. Light be with you.”

Alone once more, Kil’jaeden turned to see Velen and Aeterna now laying down, their legs intertwined. Alarms rang in his head, and his pupils shrank to miniscule blue dots.

_‘What am I doing here?! I have to get Archimonde, I…’_

**_‘Why don’t you do it yourself? Go up to her, rip them apart, cast a spell of blinding on Velen and crush her skull beneath your hoof. Throw the body off the cliff. Pretend it was some natural phenomena. You know how the arcane energies have been rising this month.’_ **

Kil’jaeden stroked his tendrils frantically, eyes glued to the scene. They were just laying, but she was far too close, and Velen _much_ too comfortable with her.

_‘That should be me, there. She’s… stolen our spot.’_

**_‘Our? No, just yours. Velen is where he always has been. The only thing missing is you. He’s replaced you, oh, that hurts.’_ **

Suddenly, Kil’jaeden’s body moved of its own accord. Without knowing what he was doing (yet on some level, he was aware) he climbed onto the roof of a building and shrouded himself in an invisibility spell. Velen wasn’t attuned to the arcane. He wouldn’t know.

Kil’jaeden raised his arms up to the heavens, tilted his head back and began to chant. Swirling purple clouds drew together and an acidic rain of magical concentrate pattered down, pink mist descending from the sky. With each word of power, Argus responded to Kil’jaeden’s call. His logical mind was flooded with emotions, every drop of energy in his body seeking to pull the planet’s forces to his command.

Velen winced as a too-hot droplet landed on his exposed forearm. He opened his eyes and looked up to see a storm seemingly have come out of nowhere. Aeterna looked around, seeing only fog around them.

“Do you feel that?”

Velen frowned. “I do not like it. We should go.”

Kil’jaeden had trouble regulating his voice, quavering to keep his spell under control. His words boomed in the sky now, reverberated beneath the ground. Cries of terror came from the Circle of Aspirants, and the little astral blooms folded up with dread. Raw arcane power flowed through Kil’jaeden’s veins, a trickle of blood running from his nose. Then he cast, focus narrowed completely to Aeterna’s presence. An enormous searing bolt of energy tore the sky apart and blasted the two Eredar apart, Velen flying a few miles to the next continent and Aeterna enveloped in crushing pain. Kil’jaeden tormented her, channeling and channeling until he nearly collapsed. His head pounded with the force of his thought, will so strong it was splitting him apart with hatred. Yet she would not die.

Velen had cast a blessing of protection on her _just in case_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that spellcast was the best thing I've written all year


	11. Chapter 11

That night, the Triumvirate sat together watching the evening news. Moving holographic images were being projected against a wall, of someone gesturing animatedly to the stormy skies above.

_“What a sight! Mana-infused lightning seems to have struck a point in the Arinor Gardens earlier today, and the power levels were off the charts!”_

Kil’jaeden sat with his hands on his knees, false serenity on his face and tension in his shoulders. If he shifted uncomfortably with Velen right beside him, he would be questioned, and therefore _screwed_.

“Goodness.” Velen shook his head, his dark hair spilling over recently bandaged shoulders. “It’s a wonder I survived that.” The ‘lightning’ had burned quite a bit of his skin, and was slowly healing under the magically infused wraps. Guilt gnawed at Kil’jaeden and he said nothing, Archimonde seizing the moment to suck up somewhat.

“Dunno what we’d do without you. We’d be lost without our Prophet.”

“Oh…” Velen glanced to him and flicked his hand up and down, dismissing the thought. “I’m not going anywhere, for as long as the Light wills it, I live.”

Kil’jaeden resisted the urge to roll his eyes and glared at the hologram. The reporter was now squatting by a crater smoking with arcane energies.

 _“Take a look at that! It seems the weather is behaving more erratic these days – but not to worry! We’re in good hands.”_ A picture of Kil’jaeden casting a spell from many years ago popped up on the screen, with an energetic voiceover speaking of how he would solve climate change.

“Oh, hello…” Kil’jaeden muttered, staring at the image of his younger self. _‘Damn, I was a lanky little bastard back then. Gah.’_

Archimonde nudged him in the side, his elbow sinking into a bit of softness.

“Yeeeeah, Kil’jaeden. When are you gonna fix all these manastorms?”

“You think it’s my fault?” Defensive, Kil’jaeden shouldered him roughly. “I haven’t the slightest clue what’s causing the weather to act up like this.”

“What?” Velen turned to look at Kil’jaeden in shock and disappointment. “I thought you were working on a solution…!”  
“I have been!” Kil’jaeden folded his arms, wishing he had something chewy to stick in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to talk about this. “Still in the research stages, so no resources are wasted creating a solution that might not address all aspects of the problem.”

“Blah blah de fuckin’ _blah_ , Kil. You’re gonna research for the next few milennia and by that time Argus will be a scarred, barren husk.“ Archimonde turned his attention back to the hologram, stretching his hooves out onto the low table. Kil’jaeden could feel Velen’s eyes upon him and couldn’t meet his gaze, not now when his mind was awhirl with worry. Velen _could not_ find out about what he had done. He couldn’t.

“I am glad only I was scorched, though.” Velen said softly as he gazed at the wall. “I was out with Aeterna today, and she escaped the strike unharmed.”

Kil’jaeden’s tail, which was trapped between his thigh and Archimonde’s, flicked up and down in irritation. Archimonde felt it and grabbed the tip, drawing a squeak out of Kil’jaeden.

“Yes, very fortunate…” Velen mused as if talking to himself, now very far away from any present goings-on. Knowing this, Archimonde took the chance to lean in and whisper to Kil’jaeden.

“What’s the matter?” His voice was low, resonating in his throat. “Something on your mind?

_‘You know bloody well what’s on my mind. You were supposed to kill her…’_

**_‘And I couldn’t find her. What now?’_ **

_‘The next chance you get, I want her destroyed. And if you don’t let go of my tail…’_

**_‘Come on. You’re already blackmailing me to near exile, let me have my fun.’_ **

_‘You had your fun after you drugged me, you miscreant.’_

**_‘Mmmm… and I’d do it again just to get a piece of this.’_** Archimonde squeezed Kil’jaeden’s tail hard enough to actually hurt him, and Kil’jaeden suddenly stood.

“I have work to do.” said Kil’jaeden abruptly, and left. Archimonde thankfully let him do so and scooted over to Velen, wrapping an arm around his shoulders for warmth. Velen was completely out of it, and the news hologram played on.

 

~

 

Kil’jaeden forgot himself in an instant when he saw Velen turn a corner, tail twined with Aeterna’s. They were speakign softly, of some private matters not meant for his ears, knowledge kept from the Triumvirate’s most knowledgeable himself. His beautiful face twisted into a horrid snarl, a curse on his lips just barely held back. He crept after them, shrouded in powerful concealment spells. His hooves were silent against the crystal-tiled floor, eyes fixed on his best friend as Velen rubbed up against Aeterna under the pretense of weary leaning. Kil’jaeden read the signs, detected pleasure in his mind.

Velen _wanted_ her. And by the way her hips swayed, tail swishing in tandem with the Prophet’s, she wanted him too.

Kil’jaeden felt sick. His pale blue cheeks darkened a dead shade of purple, eyes narrow and full of hate. Every moment he checked on Velen was stolen from him, marred by Aeterna’s presence. He hadn’t indulged in a casual touch for _weeks_ now, or at least that was how it felt as his entire being craved nearness to his beloved.

He was supposed to think of something to pull Velen away from her, some private matter he knew his friend would respond to out of duty alone. But so consumed in his jealousy, Kil’jaeden could not formulate the slightest plan to whisk Velen into his arms. All he could do was stew, his chest aching, tight, while no incantation could squeeze through his constricted throat.

The pair turned another corner and went into an open sitting room, where tall arches of silver and gold curved up towards a pink domed ceiling. Arcane energies hung in a tingling purple mist around the place, a few Augari making use of them in convenient conjurations. Kil’jaeden would be hard-pressed to stay hidden here, in the presence of so many powerful magi who all knew his aura well. He stood by the wall, trying to stabilise his breathing. Why did he hurt so terribly to see them together? What held him from interrupting, requesting Velen’s presence, drawing him away? His beloved friend would not reject him, would he? They’d known each other for years.

**_‘You want him, yet you do not even try. You have no right to sulk like this. Either ask or get on with your life.’_ **

Kil’jaeden scowled inwardly, tendrils so stiff they were actually sticking out a little bit. _‘He **is** my life.’_

**_‘Alright, now you’re just being dramatic. You know who you are. And you’re better than this.’_ **

_‘Then stop roasting me and give me a logical solution to this damned problem! I can’t rely on Archimonde to kill her soon enough. I have to do something.’_

**_‘Why don’t you just wait? Waiting usually solves things.’_ **

_‘Are you mad?’_

**_‘I’m you, I might as well be.’_ **

_‘Oh, for Light’s sake…! I… why can’t I make a decision on this? I don’t even know how to begin splitting them apart…’_

**_‘Watch, then. Catch Velen when he’s alone.’_ **

Kil’jaeden nodded, tail flicking in agreement. He could do that.

For the next seven hours, he trailed Velen until by the grace of the Light, he and Aeterna went their separate ways. Exhausted to the point of near collapse, Kil’jaeden discarded his illusions and appeared behind Velen.

“Hey.”

“!” Velen jumped a foot in the air and turned around faster than Kil’jaeden had ever seen him move. Heart racing, he put two fingers to the side of his neck and holy warmth glowed there, calming him down. “Light, Kil’jaeden! What is it?” His hand lingered on the door to his private chambers, knuckles white from how hard he gripped it. Kil’jaeden pointed his gaze there, then lifted it to his friend’s mesmerising eyes.

“Is something the matter, brother? You seem tense.”

“Of course I am tense, I thought you were going to attack me!”

Kil’jaeden frowned. This was new. “Whyever would I do that?”

Velen opened the door and walked in, leaving it wide for Kil’jaeden to enter. Pleased on a deeper level than he could detect, Kil’jaeden followed him.

“It is the season.” Velen muttered. “People act strange.”

“Indeed.” Kil’jaeden wandered to the bed, glancing over each wrinkle in the pure white sheets. He wondered if Aeterna had lain here beside Velen, doing unspeakable things to his pristine form. The sheets said nothing, in polite disarray from waking and sitting. He looked aside to see Velen gazing at him, arms folded. Kil’jaeden quirked a brow. “Yes?”

“What are you here for?” Velen sounded hurried, irritable. Kil’jaeden stepped into his personal space, fiercely intelligent eyes upon him.

“Why the questions, brother? Can we not exist together in comfortable silence, as we used to?” He went to hold his tongue but it flapped without permission, a biting edge to his voice. “Has something changed?”

Velen peered at him searchingly, brows furrowed. “You… sound accusative.” He didn’t seem to understand. “Why?”

“You have been very distant as of late. It is as if… I have wronged you somehow.”

“I could say the same of you.” Velen replied crisply. Kil’jaeden was taken aback – he’d never heard this tone before. “The other day you just could not wait to be rid of me, and all I wanted to do was help.”

It took Kil’jaeden a second to remember. “What, that thing with Netrezaar?” He shook his head. “Folly. I needed time to recollect my thoughts alone. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why did you ask if I loved you, when I so clearly do?”

Kil’jaeden couldn’t stop a snort from escaping him, and Velen’s eyes narrowed.

 _‘Shit.’_ Kil’jaeden’s tail lashed anxiously behind him, Velen’s held around his body as if defensive.

“Uh. Clearly? Hm, I wonder.” Looking around, Kil’jaeden began to pace in slow circles all the while knowing Velen hated this roundabout way of speech, yet he was powerless to change it. “You’ve been spending so much of your time with that Vindicator friend of yours, you might as well not exist. We’re as good as a Duumvirate with how little you tend to your duties.”

Velen’s face fell then, a sudden wretchedness overcoming him. “My… duties… Light, I’d just about forgotten…”

“Yes.” Kil’jaeden turned on his hoof and stomped with purpose into the carpet, standing confidently. “You forgot, and it was up to me to attend to all your priestly matters. Why the loss of form, Velen? This isn’t like you.”

“I…” Velen cleared his throat, tail drooping between his legs. Kil’jaeden watched impassively, his heart aching. Velen hurt, he knew it. But at least he was not waxing lyrical about his new love. “I was… distracted…”

“By what, your bodily desires?” Kil’jaeden’s voice held a derision he hadn’t intended, but Velen cringed at it anyway. “How horrendously inappropriate.”

“Just because you are not partaking this year does not mean I must abstain too!” Velen cried, jabbing a slim finger into Kil’jaeden’s chest. “You do not understand-”

“What?” Kil’jaeden batted Velen’s hand aside and stood up close to him, leering down his nose. “What did you just say? I don’t understand? You think I’m clueless, is that it? That I don’t know what’s been going on?”

“Brother, no, I-”

“You listen to me.” Kil’jaeden hissed, grabbing hold of Velen’s tendrils and tugging on them firmly. “I know _everything_ that transpires in Mac’Aree, your dalliances most of all. And I do _not_ approve.” Dark, hateful energy coiled within him as he spoke in a deep and intimidating growl. Velen’s lips quivered, parted in shock as he looked at Kil’jaeden, afraid.

“P-please, Kil’jaeden… you are… hurting me…”

“Tell me.” Kil’jaeden’s eyes began to glow bright gold, the force of his will crashing into Velen’s mind. “Tell me what she is to you.” He gripped the tendrils tighter, and Velen whimpered.

“I love her,” Velen said in a breath, and Kil’jaeden released him.

“More than your people?” Kil’jaeden took an accusative tone almost instantly. “Look how you have neglected your duties to Argus, to the Light!”

“No!” Rubbing at his face, cowering somewhat, Velen snapped. “I didn’t mean to forget! I just lost myself… lost myself for _hours_ in her arms, Kil’jaeden you would not believe how beautiful she is…”

“I’ve heard enough.” Kil’jaeden turned and strode to the door, tail held high as if he was pleased with himself. With a glance back, he glowered at his friend. “You will pull yourself together, _brother_ , or be excommunicated from the Triumvirate. Argus deserves loyal, attentive rulers, Velen. Not lovesick priests.” And harsh though his words were, he offered no apology, no soothing mental solace, and left.

Velen sank down onto his bed the minute the door shut and held himself, chanting a prayer under his breath. The Light would keep him safe. He would not lose the life he had built, nor all he had known for a month’s error. He could not. No.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohmygodthedrama.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just go with it lmao

While Velen increased his efforts to do more for the Triumvirate, Archimonde and Kil’jaeden had some time away from work to discuss private matters. Nothing serious, just the casual and entirely legal murder of an innocent Vindicator. It was a week after Tarkath that Archimonde approached Kil’jaeden, suspicious white gloves covering his hands.

“I can’t.”

Kil’jaeden raised his brows, lips curling into a snarl. In his left hand was a conjured mana bun with icing dripping down his fingers. “Why the fuck not?”

Archimonde held his breath, eyes fixed on the streak of white trickling past a knuckle. “Uh. Hmm.”

“Spit it out.” Kil’jaeden growled, taking a massive bite out of the bun. Archimonde’s cheeks darkened and he inhaled, tearing his eyes up to inspect the ceiling.

“You, ah… really shouldn’t be eating so many of those. No nutritional value, you know?” It was the only thing that came to mind. Chancing a look back, Archimonde instantly regretted his decision. Kil’jaeden stuffed the rest of the bun into his mouth with an angry huff, swallowing it whole and pointing a sticky finger at him.

“If you came here to berate my consumption habits I swear by the Light, Archimonde, I will crack your skull open.” Kil’jaeden conjured a second bun for good measure and held it with his middle finger raised.

“Damn, what has your tail in a twist?” Archimonde folded his arms across his chest, observing the blatant irritation in his friend’s hefty tail smacking against the couch. “I haven’t even given you the news yet.”

Kil’jaeden busied himself with chewing, glaring at Archimonde as if expecting him to speak sense while there he lay in a stupidly seductive pose. He had a hoof on the couch, the other resting on the floor, his legs were parted for his tail to lie between and _oh_ , Archimonde couldn’t even see between his thick thighs at first. Archimonde licked his lips. Kil’jaeden had gotten _soft_ , and as much as he hated to admit it, stress looked good on him. After staring awhile Archimonde peeled his gloves off and cast them aside.

“I can’t kill her, because she’s with child.”

Kil’jaeden blinked. Swallowed. And then hissed.

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not kidding. Did a bit of divination and yeah, even I ain’t that cruel. Look, I’m sure everything will turn out well. _You…_ ” He bent down and pressed a finger into Kil’jaeden’s chest. “…just need to relax.”

Kil’jaeden growled low in his throat, a warning for Archimonde to back the fuck off. Archimonde simply walked his fingers down Kil’jaeden’s body, over his stomach and then onto one leg.

“You happy to just grizzle at me or are you gonna make some room?”

Kil’jaeden narrowed his eyes into thin slits, tail smacking the nearest cushion hard enough to make a series of _thwacks_. Archimonde lowered his brows.

“Guess that’s a no.” Without further ado, Archimonde shoved Kil’jaeden’s tail aside and sat between his legs, hooves tucked beneath him up on the couch. Kil’jaeden bared his teeth in a half-assed threat; he really could not be bothered getting up and was in fact quite exhausted. Emotionally worn thin, all this drama with Velen and Aeterna was twisting his moods around tighter than a netherstorm. His tail flicked uselessly against the side of the couch, Archimonde’s curling about with interest.

“What’s the matter, mm?” Archimonde leaned down and brought their faces close together, tapping at Kil’jaeden’s crest with his own. “You can tell me.”

“You are in my way.” Kil’jaeden growled, giving him a feeble headbutt.

“Oh, my apologies.” said Archimonde with a smirk, leaning back just an inch. “Suppose you’re after… this?” In a swift motion he nicked the bun out of Kil’jaeden’s hand and squeezed it temptingly. Kil’jaeden snarled and went right for it but Archimonde held it away, chuckling. “So you do have some life in you!”

Kil’jaeden seemed to deflate into the couch, and groaned. “Would you just leave me alone?”

“But you’re so cute when you’re upset.” Archimonde mused. He took a bite out of the bun, observing just how much icing Kil’jaeden had spattered around his lips. “Like a child.”

“Is that how you see me?” Kil’jaeden wasn’t looking at him. “Some endearing simpleton you can just push around?”

“Well…” Archimonde’s free hand went down and squeezed the side of Kil’jaeden’s waist, where his light robes bunched up a tad. “You are supple enough for me to have my hands _all over_ you.”

“Light damn it, Archimonde!” Kil’jaeden kneed him in the side with all the energy he could muster. “Just go. I don’t want whatever this is, your blasted hands or whatever. Let me think in peace.”

“Make me.” Archimonde whispered, and licked Kil’jaeden’s cheek. Kil’jaeden scrunched his face up in disgust, tossing his head to one side. With a scornful sigh he tore that groping hand away from his soft midsection and cracked Archimonde’s wrist.

“YAAAGHH!!” Archimonde nearly fell off the couch and wrenched his hand up, fingers dangling at unnatural angles. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Kil’jaeden folded both of his arms defensively. “That’s what you get. Now leave.”

“Ohhhh, you…” Archimonde’s blood was boiling now, his eyes flashing a dangerous electric blue. “And here I was thinking I could do something nice for you, to apologize!”

“There’s nothing you can do, you utterly useless twit!” Louder Kil’jaeden pitched his voice, and faster his tail lashed in anger. “After what you’ve done to me, the best you can do is perish.”

“I-I was hoping to I don’t know, give you a little…” Archimonde frantically gestured to Kil’jaeden’s crotch, making an obscene motion from hand to mouth, and Kil’jaeden spat at him.

“Over my dead body. Now if you don’t get out of my sight, you soon won’t have any bones to break.” Arcane energy fizzled in his fingers, glowing brighter and brighter with white streaks lancing through bluish-purple clouds. The raw power there frightened Archimonde – Kil’jaeden was serious, he knew this now. Crawling back off the couch, Archimonde held his left wrist with his tail between his legs.

“Bloody hell.” he grumbled. “I don’t even know why I try with you.” He left Kil’jaeden to his mana buns, guilt and despair.

Kil’jaeden wished Velen could hold him.

**Author's Note:**

> pls feedback


End file.
